Oaths
by Dasque
Summary: Rhiann Cousland and an unlikely group of characters learn that some oaths transcend all else. Warning: I played up a few darker aspects of this tale. Rated M for violent images and adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**__: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its characters - more's the pity, though I will take some credit for Rhiann._

_**A/N**__: This is more or less a look at the story between game moments, and just to warn you, I am an Alistair girl. I'm currently rewriting the entire story to clean up and edit some of the parts that annoyed me, so if you've read this before and it seems different, well - it is. Also, credit to the brilliant man behind Buffy, as I've snuck a few Whedonisms in here and there._

_**Update**__: So, apparently all the pov breaks disappeared from these boards at one time, so I'm in the process of replacing them when I get a few spare moments. Until I can get all the way through, I apologize for the rough reading._

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Her life was bound up by a name. Rhiann Cousland, only daughter of the teryn. Her elder brother Fergus would inherit the vast rhan of Highever one day, carrying on the title that held their family second only to the king's. Her place in the family was far less important than then his, or at least it was as far as Ferelden nobility was concerned. She could not force bitterness from this knowledge, however. She led a charmed life, one full of comfort and love. Unlike the circumstances that befell so many of her friends, her father did not see her as an unwanted burden to be married off, instead doting on his only daughter until she was in real danger of being spoiled.

That never did occur, however, for in his indulgence, he allowed her to train in swordplay at her request. Such a thing was not common, but is was far more accepted in Ferelden than in the surrounding nations of Orlais and Antiva. Strong women bred strong sons, in the Ferelden mind, and a history sprinkled with female heroes and warrior queens had begun a transition that earned them a reputation of habitual barbarism by their more "civilized" neighbors.

Not wanting his daughter to spend her time loitering in the training yard with the other men, Teryn Bryce assigned one of the younger men, newly sworn to knighthood, to oversee her lessons. Ser Gilmore was only a handful of years older than Rhiann but did not take the task lightly, and some much needed discipline was instilled in the youngest Cousland. Hands that were unaccustomed to work of any kind would crack and bleed after their practice sessions, wringing tears from her bright blue eyes. It was only her wretched stubbornness that allowed her to continue, spending day after day in the broiling sun lunging at hay bales while the knight criticized her stance or grip until she wanted to scream. Yet she would do it again the next day, and the next, ignoring the protests of her mother that she looked more like one of the lads then a proper young lady anymore.

During the evening, however, Gilmore would clean and bandage her wounds himself, speaking softly to her on the rapid progress she made, giving her the strength to continue.

The determination served her well, in the end. Rhiann learned quickly to use her own talents to her advantage rather than relying on brute strength she would never develop. She was uncommonly quick and had a keen mind and a sharp eye. She was also known to use less honorable tactics if the situation warranted, having no qualms about throwing a fistful of dirt in the eyes of a much larger attacker to gain the upper hand. Ser Gilmore, who knew the world that lay beyond the protective wall of Highever castle, was in full encouragement of this behavior. He was not training her for knighthood, did not bother with lectures of honor and accountability. Never in her life would she face an opponent in an honor duel or mock combat, and if the harshness of the world demanded that she lift her blades in real combat one day, he promised that she would do so prepared. He trained her to _win_.

Between the devotion of her family and the hard care given by her friend, Rhiann grew into a likable young woman with a lust for life and a ready laugh. She was tall for a woman and lean from her years of training, yet utterly feminine with her long black hair and bright blue eyes. Completely unaware of her own charms, she could often be seen running through the halls of the great estate with her hound Aiden at her side, her throaty laughter echoing off of the walls and her guardians looking on fondly.

-oOo-

She was fifteen when her parents began pressing the issue of marriage. She knew it was her one real duty to her family, to make a good match and provide her father with a strong alliance, but she could not seem to bring herself to do it. She enjoyed the company of boys her age, but tended to look on them more as playmates than suitors. Once in a while she liked one enough to allow him a few stolen kisses in a dark corner, but never did she feel the desire to make one of them her own, or to want him enough to even consider _forever_. The more she resisted, the more noble sons were paraded before her, and the less subtle became her mother's hints.

"What about Ser Gilmore?"

Rhiann rolled her eyes. "_No_, Mother."

"He's far beneath your station, granted, but he is loyal to Highever. And he's managed to keep your attention for longer than a fortnight. That shows promise."

She chose to ignore the exasperation that had crept into her mother's voice. "He's a friend."

"You've said that of all your suitors."

True enough, she supposed, but it was particularly true in this case. "It would be too strange. He's like an older brother to me. And before you press the issue, Fergus is a definite _no_ as well."

Her mother's mouth hung open only for a second before she caught herself and snapped it shut. "I swear – the things you say sometimes!"

Rhiann only grinned in reply and wrapped her arms around her much shorter mother. "I'll settle down eventually, mam, I promise."

"I know you mean it, my love, but truly, I have my doubts sometimes."

-oOo-

News of the arrival of the Grey Warden spread long before her father summoned her. Rhiann, a grown woman now, was busy with preparations for the departure of her father and brother when the servant informed her she was to meet their guest in the great hall.

She was overjoyed to learn the Warden was there to test Ser Gilmore. Must as she would miss him, should he be asked to join, it was high time someone acknowledged the worth of her friend. She was much more surprised, and slightly shaken, at the Warden's interest in her. She had never even seen a real battle, after all.

Suddenly this seemed a rather crucial hole in her training.

As she made her way to the family quarters to locate her brother, she allowed her mind to fill with fancies of following the Warden. She could live her life as a warrior, a guardian of Ferelden. Rhiann chuckled to herself at the thought and stored the idea at the back of her mind. Best to stick with reality, even the mundane existence that seemed determined to find and trap her.

Her mother's hints had long since ceased to be subtle.

-oOo-

She had been woken from a sound sleep by the cries. Even now her mind rebelled against the thought that this was _real,_ that she was really running through the ruins of what had been her home and that she the nightmare would not end to find her safe in her own bed.

As she raced down the corridors they seemed alien to her, filled with smoke and soot and the stench of burning. She stopped to catch her breath, the tightness in her lungs causing her head to swim. As she gasped, she held up her blades, dark with blood in the pale moonlight. All her life they had remained shiny and clean. She fought back the urge to retch and leaned her head wearily against the wall.

Her mother caught up to her, doubled over and holding her side. "The great hall – he may be there."

Rhiann nodded and closed her eyes, briefly offering a prayer to any god who would deign to listen. _Just let him be in the hall_, she pleaded silently. _Andraste's blood, I don't care about anything else. Just let Father be in the hall._

The pounding at the gates threatened to sap her remaining strength.

"Where's my father?" she demanded of Ser Gilmore, and swallowed hard, trying to rid her voice of the high note of hysteria.

"He went to the larder, in search of you," he answered, then grasped her by the elbow. "The servant's exit hasn't been discovered yet. Take your mother and make straight for it. I'll hold the hall as long as I can."

Rhiann began to argue, to scream that all those years of training were worthless if she couldn't even defend her own home. The look in his eyes lodged the words in her throat.

_He's going to die_.

The realization was the blow that would break her at last, she was sure, horror pounding at her will just as relentlessly as the ram pounded at the gates. Rhiann felt like a bit of thread on a loom, pulled tighter and tighter until she was as fine as a single strand of hair.

_He's going to die to let us escape_.

"My lady," he prompted urgently, giving her a little shake. "My lady, we don't have much time."

The thread snapped, and she could only nod dumbly, her voice abandoning her as Ser Gilmore looked down at her with pleading eyes. "_Run_, Rhiann. Don't look back."

-oOo-

The small cellar closed in around her, making it difficult to breathe, and for a few moments she was honestly afraid she would faint. The Grey Warden dragged her on mercilessly. "We dare not stop."

Her breaths were coming in short, jagged gasps, making her vision swim and blur before her. It was not until the cellar door swung open and she stepped out into the cool night that she realized she was sobbing uncontrollably, shaking with the force of her rage and grief. Roughly Duncan grabbed her and covered her mouth, his dark eyes boring into hers.

"You must be strong, my lady," he said in his strong, calm voice. "Do not dishonor their sacrifice."

Slowly the sobbing ebbed, and she regained control of herself, but it was a dark control, devoid of strength or hope.

-oOo-

She could still smell the blood.

Blood that had pooled on the floor beneath his body, burning its sickly sweet stench into her hair, her clothes, her mind. Blood that had dripped from her blades and ran down her arms as she cut down those who stood in the way of their escape. Blood that soaked Aiden's muzzle as he ripped and tore and dismembered.

Her life – her world of love and laughter – was gone, swallowed by shadows of violence and betrayal.

"We reach Ostagar on the morrow, my lady."

Rhiann did not look up or acknowledge his presence in any way, except to whisper softly, "Please don't call me that."

From across the campfire, his dark eyes met hers in sympathy, though nothing of pity was expressed on the impassive face. "As you wish."

Beside her, Aiden whined and nudged her knee with his nose. She patted his head with numb fingers, and the concern in the too-intelligent canine eyes increased. Rhiann had undergone the length of the journey in a daze, still lost in her waking nightmare. She had left some vital part of herself behind in that cellar, she knew. Left it there to die with her parents, to lie in darkness that would never lift.


	2. Chapter 2

Ostagar brought with it a stir of familiarity. She began to feel the vestige of the stranger she had been a matter of days before, ushering her back to her surroundings. The sounds of men and dogs and shouted orders were nearly overwhelming after her self-imposed silence, and she felt dazed, like a dreamer forcefully pulled from sleep. The sight was achingly familiar in its similarities to the final days at Highever castle as the army was preparing itself. The grief she had nurtured into a secure numbness rose up to lodge in her throat.

She curled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking and forced herself to listen to Duncan's explanation of the situation.

When she was introduced to King Cailan, another emotion began to rise from the ashes of her soul – resentment. She felt her expression harden as she listened to his child-like dreams of glory and tales and she wanted to scream, to rail against him for allowing this to happen to her family. The Cousland honor had been ingrained in her far deeper than she had ever realized, however, and she managed the required polite responses. It was madness to blame him for Howe's betrayal. The king was a good man, in his own way, naïve to a fault but genuinely kind. His distress on her families behalf softened her countenance, and she was glad she had managed to hold her tongue.

As she wandered the camp, she saw for the first time just how removed she had been from the world since the night of the attack. With a chill, she also realized she had no idea of how long ago that had been. The days and nights of the journey here had passed like faded tapestries in her mind, jumbling together into a long stretch of empty images.

She unconsciously crossed her arms around herself. Thankful as she was for this unexpected awakening, some small part of her was still unwilling to absorb it, as though the bright sun and colored tents were somehow and affront to her grief.

-oOo-

The former Templar was nothing like the others of his order she had encountered. She had seen them on the rare occasions Highever welcomed visitors from the Circle. Grim and silent, the Templars always accompanied the mages. They never spoke or acted in any sense a part of the visit, merely standing in the back of the room in their lifelong vigil, watching – always watching. They had frightened her as a child.

His refined speech and easy manner bespoke familiarity with education and authority both, but there was a light in him the Templars of her memories had never possessed. Light that was almost painful to eyes growing accustomed to darkness. She shied away from it.

Alistair watched her curiously as he showed her around the camp, wondering, no doubt, what she possibly could have done to catch Duncan's attention. She couldn't blame him. She spoke very little and knew she was being less than friendly towards a man who was trying very hard to make her feel welcome, but she was not unfriendly, either. He talked enough for the both of them, anyway, readily answering all of her questions and even a few she didn't ask. Until, that was, she asked about the Joining. At that he put her off with a vague, witty response that brought the subject to a close and in no way answered her question.

She was to discover, in the days to come, that he was very good at that.

-oOo-

She had wandered away from camp right after the evening meal, and once again she had barely eaten. Duncan had warned him to keep his distance, to let her work this out on her own. He was trying – really. But as he lay in his bedroll he couldn't erase the image of those eyes. Never had he seen such expressive eyes, or the haunted look they carried.

He was tired – very tired – but sleep eluded him. Finally, with a curse for the follies of men who can't tell when they're not wanted, he got up to look for her.

-oOo-

"You certainly aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

She whirled around, her eyes wide with surprise. Drat. He hadn't meant to startle her. He could only assume she was thinking very hard about something not to have heard him coming, anyway. _Stealthy_ was not exactly the first word people used to describe him.

"I'm not," she answered quietly, then turned her back on him. Alistair looked around helplessly, unsure if he was welcome or not. He had finally found her on the edge of the ruins, on a circular patio that overlooked the mountains in the distance. The valley had claimed the land that once surrounded this place, leaving the edges of stone hovering over a dizzying drop.

She wasn't _really_ going to make him go out there, was she?

He lingered in the shadows for a moment longer before sighing in resignation and stepping out onto the circle. A low growl stopped him in his tracks.

He had forgotten about the dog.

She placed a hand on the huge mabari's head, quieting him. The animal looked at him for a moment longer, then closed its eyes and rested it's head back in her lap.

It was as much as an invitation as he was going to get, he supposed.

When he reached her, he dared a peek over the ledge, then inadvertently retreated a step. "Well. The view here is certainly … bracing."

"Try not to look down."

"_Now_ you tell me."

She didn't answer. He hoped she realized she was making this whole _conversation_ thing very difficult. With another sigh, he sat beside her. Not too close – he didn't want her to get the wrong idea about his purpose there. "I was wondering where you had gotten off to."

Still no answer. He was beginning to regret leaving his warm bedroll. "I have a duty to watch morale, you know. Not yours so much, but Cailan's. He cries easily."

She finally made a noise, barely more than a sharp exhalation of breath, but it could almost pass as a laugh. She finally looked at him, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "I'm sorry. I just needed to get away from the noise for a while."

"It's dangerous out here alone."

At that the mabari lifted its head with an offended growl.

"Not to disparage _your_ company," he amended quickly. "But I was thinking more in terms of a group. Safety in numbers and all that."

Her smile widened slightly. "The only way to get here is through the camp."

"Yes – well – good point." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, not exactly sure how to proceed now that he had her attention. "Still, it never hurts to be cautious. Did you want to talk?" and _dammit_, he hadn't meant to just blurt it out like that. He saw her spine stiffen, and he made a mental note not to try to speak to her again. _Ever_. "I'm sorry – stupid of me..."

"No, I'm sorry." Her expression softened for the first time since he had met her and her eyes wandered curiously over him, as though she were unsure what to make of him. "I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. I just – can't. Not yet, anyway."

He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in relief. There. That hadn't been _too_ disastrous. "Fair enough. Just remember the offer stands." He leaned back on one hand and tried to stifle a yawn without much success.

"I truly didn't mean to worry you," she said apologetically. "I didn't realize how late it was."

"You could stand some real sleep, I'd imagine."

She smiled again. "It's not so easy here. Isn't it ever quiet?"

"You get used to it, after a bit. Sometimes you can even get a solid ten minutes in between catastrophes."

He earned a real laugh this time, a pleasantly husky chuckle that surprised him. "I'll take your word for it."

"Huh. Never heard of anyone trying that before," he muttered, then got to his feet. "Still, would you mind very much coming back with me? I'll be awake all night with dreams of cliffs and rocks and ungraceful tumbles otherwise."

He offered his hand to her. She hesitated, then took it and allowed him to help her up.

-oOo-

Rhiann gritted her teeth and leaned hard into the tree with her good arm while careful fingers probed the opposite shoulder.

"It's dislocated," Alistair pronounced grimly.

She already knew that, but could hardly convey it when she was grinding her teeth to keep from crying out and shaming herself.

"Brace yourself."

She nodded in understanding and did as he said, closing her eyes. It didn't really help. Pain exploded in her neck and head, tingeing the darkness with red light and making her knees buckle. Alistair wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling on her face until the dizziness receded.

"Thanks," she managed to gasp, stepping out of his casual protection. She could be proud of small victories, and the fact she hadn't screamed like a child was one. She may have cracked a tooth in the effort, though.

"You'll need to bandage that," said Daveth, dabbling what looked like salve on one of his own wounds while Alistair tended to Ser Jory. "It can come out again easily."

She shook her head, keeping the injured arm curled protectively at her side and rummaging through her pack one handed until she found one of the potions she had packed.

She had anticipated this mission Duncan sent them on to be difficult, but the Korcari Wilds were draining her last reserves of strength. The cold, misty bog could have provided a challenge on its own after her sheltered upbringing, but the darkspawn plague transformed it into a trial of nightmarish proportions. She was exhausted, wet, and weakening with every step. She felt slightly resentful towards Alistair, who, though admittedly far more experienced than she, should be showing _some_ sign of fatigue. Perhaps he was just better at hiding it than she was.

The other two were not faring much better than she was. Ser Jory and Daveth had been very vocal in their dislike of the forest. More than once Jory had tried to convince them to leave.

Rhiann had not complained, but it was not for the sake of bravado. She was simply so impossibly weary, she was afraid she demonstrated with every injury the glaring mistake Duncan had made in bringing her here. Ser Gilmore – tears nearly filled her eyes and she forced them back before her companions noticed – he would have been so much better at this.

Suddenly on alert, Alistair rose and glanced around. "We have to keep moving," he warned in a low voice, drawing his sword while his eyes scanned the trees for signs of the menace that only he could detect. The other two quickly followed suit, tension springing up in their small party rapidly as the swamp grew silent and still around them.

Rhiann drew her swords and concentrated on not wincing when her newly healed shoulder ached with the movement. With a sigh for the stubbornness that had landed her in trouble more than once, she forced herself to her feet and followed.

-oOo-

The hellish vision faded and she was left with only pain. She felt as if she were floating on darkness. It rolled and swirled around her, freezing her mind and lungs and heart as it filled her, drawing deeper into her being with every shivering breath.

"_Rhiann_."

The sound of her name beckoned her, pulling her down, back to a world of men and war and responsibility. The darkness began to dissipate, breaking away to uncover the normal sounds of the camp at night. She slowly became aware of the cool night air caressing her and of cold stone beneath her.

"Rhiann," Alistair called again, softly.

She opened her eyes – no easy feat – and saw Alistair and Duncan hovering over her protectively against a backdrop of stars.

"Welcome."

-oOo-

She had never known waiting could be this difficult. She paced back and forth, occasionally giving her blades a nervous twirl. The camp was so quiet – she regretted ever complaining about how loud it was.

Irritation made her sigh and look again towards the bridge towards the tower. Her first battle, and here she was – torch bearer. It was maddening! She was surprised by the feeling, considering up until now the only emotion she'd been able to recognize regarding the upcoming battle was nausea. Now that it was here, she was anxious to be doing something. But no, once again she was being sheltered, protected. Keep the girl safe – we wouldn't want her to get hurt.

Well, that may not have been _entirely_ fair, she thought with a small smile. Her partner was definitely more irritated than she was.

She glanced over at Alistair, who was also pacing impatiently, scowling to himself. She felt bad that she hadn't been able to change Duncan's mind for him as she watched him gaze towards the battle field. Those were his brothers down there, after all. Hers, too, she supposed, but it was hard to think of strangers as such. Alistair was angry at being held back, frustrated by this poorly concealed...protection.

The thought came so suddenly that she stopped in her tracks.

Alistair had explained the concept behind the Joining, of the "group mind", as he had put it, that they were able to sense. She hadn't really been listening that closely, concentrating more at the time on not vomiting on him after her ordeal. But if they shared some sort of connection with the darkspawn, wouldn't it stand to reason that they shared one with each other as well? It made a strange, frightening kind of sense.

It also explained her churning emotions about this fight. She couldn't read his thoughts, or even get a notion of them, but she did have a feeling, more of a vague inclination than anything, of his emotion. The more she thought about it, the more she felt the truth behind it.

Her mild irritation at being left behind was being compounded by _his._

A degree of warning that this would happen might have been nice.

Alistair had noticed her sudden stillness and glanced over at her. "Something wrong?"

_Something wasn't_? "I guess I'm a little confused as to what being a Grey Warden entails," she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

He stared at her for a moment, before his eyes lit with understanding. "You learn to block it out." He said it like an apology. "I suppose there's a few things I need to explain to you once we get the chance."

"You think?"

He winced. "Well, we can't go around proclaiming what was can do to all and sundry, you know. And it's a fairly minor side effect, considering. By way of supernatural powers, it's actually rather pathetic."

He looked so nervous in the face of her anger that she felt it melt away. "Very well, then. But after this, you and I are having a little talk."

"I promise you that."

The sound of horns interrupted them. From the field the noise rose to a nearly deafening level. Archers ran forward on the bridge, ready to defend the keep.

Rhiann's stomach did a small flip.

Alistair smiled, relieved. "Make for the bridge."

-oOo-

"Lie him down!"

Alistair and the mage stumbled into the room, carrying the tower guard between them. The man was barely conscious and bleeding profusely. Rhiann kicked open one of the chests nearby, hoping for anything to assist the mage's healing magic in keeping the man alive.

_Where did they all come from_?

Alistair had wondered the same thing aloud earlier, but the question still plagued Rhiann even as she knelt and pulled out her tools to break into the next chest.

They had discovered the tunnel the darkspawn dug through the base level of the tower, but it still didn't explain how they took it so quickly, or how their numbers had gone undetected.

Alistair sank down on one of the nearby cots, wiping the sweat from his face. He was weary and bleeding, but his injuries were shallow enough.

"Where on earth did you learn to do that?" he asked incredulously when the lock clicked in response to her probing and fell open. She nearly smiled at the memory of badgering the elven lad who worked in the stables until he relented and agreed to teach her.

"We Couslands are a resourceful lot."

The trunk contained the supplies she was looking for, and she gathered them quickly and carried them to the mage. The tower guard was pale as a ghost, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Within moments the mage managed to get the bleeding under control, but the guard still looked pale and ill, and lay shivering uncontrollably.

"We'll have to leave him here."

Rhiann looked at Alistair in sheer disbelief. The darkspawn were everywhere, filling the halls of every floor with their stench. They had cut a path through them to get this far, but Rhiann couldn't make herself believe there weren't more flooding in behind them. "We can't just _leave_ him."

"We can't take him with us."

"But, there are healers in camp..."

"Rhiann," Alistair said gently, and she read the regret in his soft brown eyes even as he uttered the truth neither of them could deny. "There's no _time_."

-oOo-

The ogre filled the room, and the putrid stench of the beast combined with the horrors of torn flesh and pools of blood made her vision swim. She swallowed a scream when it slammed Alistair against the wall with a single swipe of a massive hand. He struggled to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, and crouched into a fighting position.

Suddenly everything became very clear.

Without allowing herself to think, Rhiann turned to the mage, who was backing away slowly, his eyes wide with horror. She grabbed his arm before his natural instinct to flee won him over and forced him to look at her. "Stay back. And do whatever you have to do to _keep him alive_."

Falling back on the discipline taught at the Circle, the mage forced himself to focus and nodded, gripping his staff in both hands. Raising her blades, Rhiann paused only long enough to take a deep breath before running in to help.

Alistair rolled off the beast's chest, landing hard on his hands and knees and gasping for air. Rhiann hurried over to help him to his feet.

"Maker's mercy, I can't believe we didn't just _die_."

The urge to laugh was overwhelming, but Rhiann felt if she started she wouldn't be able to stop. "You're the one who listened to me."

"Yes, well, your crazy is clearly catching," he said, bracing a foot on the ogre's chest and freeing his sword from it with a vicious yank. He was smiling, though. She could feel it as well – the euphoria of surviving was pulsing within her. He went to the window while she lit the beacon, trying to determine the progress of the battle below them.

His eyes met hers when he turned back, and in them she could feel stronger than ever the ill-warned connection the Joining had created. The power of his longing to be below washed over her – the yearning to help their brothers, to help Duncan. For the first time since Duncan had dragged her from the cellar of her home, she understood what it was to be a Warden. She met his gaze steadily, silently agreeing to toss their orders to the wind and join the fighting. In that instant, that brief eternity, Rhiann felt that they understood each other better than anyone.

The doors crashed open, the moment was gone, and she _knew_. Even as the darkspawn flooded the room, killing the unfortunate tower mage, her mind snapped the clues together into a frightening and horrible explanation of what was really happening. Then red-hot pain slammed into her, and all she could feel was the stone floor and warmth spreading rapidly beneath her.

Her last thought, before unconsciousness claimed her, was that no one should have to live through this twice.

They had been betrayed.


	3. Chapter 3

This is what her grief must have looked like from the outside, Rhiann thought. Her heart ached as she watched Alistair simply exist from day to day, trudging through each hour in an emotionless void of routine. He spoke only when questioned directly, otherwise wrapping himself in a cocoon of silence even the witch seemed hesitant to penetrate. The light that had burned within him when they first met was gone, and the emptiness that remained seemed even colder in contrast.

Rhiann risked a glance at him, sitting away from the fire and alone, hunkered down in his cloak against the chill wind. He was becoming as much as a self-imposed outcast as Morrigan.

She was beginning to doubt Alistair's reassurances that time and practice would dim the connection they shared. Not that she thought he was lying to her, but the last Blight had been over four hundred years ago. The taint was supposed to be stronger during a Blight. Had the Wardens, forced to endure tragedy and loss back then, found their brimming emotions spilling over into each other as well?

It wasn't really worth the speculation, she supposed, except she carried a twisted knot of guilt and sadness in her chest that was more Alistair's than her own.

With a shake of her head she turned her attention back to Aiden, and the dog did need her attention. He had found them the morning before, about three days outside of Lothering. The moment Rhiann heard the loud _wuff_ behind her and turned to see her faithful companion had been the beginning of her healing. This small blessing after so much loss had filled her with life – even Alistair smiled briefly at the sight of her laughing as she knelt in the dirt and greeted the animal like he was her only friend in the world.

He had been wounded in his wanderings, though, with a deep cut in his leg. It had gotten infected while he searched for his master, and they didn't have the time or supplies to let him rest and heal. Rhiann tended the dog every time they stopped, and now she was grateful to see her minor knowledge of herbs had been enough. He was improving.

Aiden whimpered, and she looked up from her musings to find him looking at Alistair. He turned his dark eyes back to his master as if pleading with her to help.

"I know," she said quietly, scratching his head. "I'm worried about him, too."

The dog whimpered again, nudging her shoulder.

"I'm not so sure he wants to talk to me."

The whining persisted, and Rhiann threw her hands up in defeat. "I'll try, but don't be surprised if he just sends me right back over here."

Satisfied now that she was up, Aiden simply laid his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

She walked over to Alistair, deliberately stepping on a twig in her passing so as not to startle him. He glanced up at her, then readjusted his cloak and kept staring straight ahead.

"If you want me to leave you alone, I will."

He didn't answer for a long time. Just as she was ready to head back to the fire he looked at her again. "Not particularly."

Rhiann sat down in front of him, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them to ward against the cold. It was well into spring, but the air grew moist and chill once the sun set each day.

He looked over to the fire, frowning. "Where's the witch?"

Alistair had yet to call Morrigan by her name.

"She claimed she needed to restock some of her herbs." Never mind that the night was mature and she hadn't taken so much as a small sack with her.

"You sound doubtful."

She shrugged. Rhiann honestly preferred not knowing what Morrigan got up to at night. "Aren't you?"

He gave her a twisted smile. "Definitely."

She didn't particularly mind Morrigan, but Alistair had trouble adjusting to her sudden and uninvited presence. "She never camps near me, you know. There's no reason to put yourself in exile."

He sighed. "I think I'd be lousy company, given the circumstances."

"And I've been nothing but pleasant since we met. You're right – best to stay over here and freeze, then."

He ignored the sarcasm. "I'm...thankful, that you would try to help, Rhiann, but I'm not sure you could understand." She looked at him levelly, and Alistair caught his blunder immediately. "Maker! I didn't mean... of course you know... you've been through so much..." he shook his head, sighing. "Never mind. I'm an idiot."

"You've a lot on your mind."

"Yeah, like being an idiot. I dwell on it more than you might think."

She gave him a halfhearted smile, nervously plucking at strands of grass as she wondered what to say. He was practically a stranger to her, someone whom fate had thrown into her path only a couple of weeks before. Yet that same power had also given them the same burden, forcing them to rely on each other.

More than that, she remembered him coming to her in her grief, despite the fact they knew less of each other then – it was a simple act of kindness in a world where kindness seemed in danger of disappearing. He deserved the same.

It had never been Rhiann's nature to hedge, and she decided directness was called for now. "Do you want to talk? About Duncan?"

"You don't have to do that." He seemed strangely hesitant to look at her. "I know you didn't know him very well."

"You once told me the offer stood open. I want to talk – to you. Please."

He finally met her gaze, his clear brown eyes wells of misery. "I should have been there." His voice broke on the words and he looked away. "I should have died with them." He buried his head in his arms and Rhiann realized he was weeping, the choking gasps of a man who feels shamed by tears.

She rose to her knees and put her arms around him, offering the simple comfort of another person's presence since she had nothing else to give.

All of their reassurances had died at Ostagar.

-oOo-

The blow nearly knocked the wind out of her, but she had no time to recover before the spider was upon her, overwhelming her with spiny legs that tore flesh and pincers that dripped with venom. Rhiann gripped her dagger and stabbed upward, cringing at thick white liquid gushed from the wound and rained down on her. Gritting her teeth, she stabbed again, and with a screechy hiss of pain, the spider released her. She rolled to her feet, nursing her poisoned leg, and readied herself to meet the next charge. An icy wind whirled past her face and slammed into the spider, freezing it in place. Alistair ran up beside her, hammering at the remains until it shattered.

Rhiann fell to her knees, her leg stinging and her stomach rolling. She fought back the urge to vomit, wiping frantically at the pasty mess that covered her. "Ugh. I thought there were only bandits out here." Her voice quivered and she fought to steady it. "How did they never notice a nest of giant spiders so close to town?"

Morrigan knelt beside her. She examined Rhiann's leg with cool detachment, looking over the bleeding puncture wounds. "You are quite fortunate these particular creatures were nonfatal. However, your leg will be useless in a short time until morning. If you wish to make camp now, I have a poultice that may help."

"Fine," Rhiann answered. "But...not here. Let's move a little way away first."

Later she would recognize it to be an act of madness, but all she could think at that moment was she had to get clean. She left the others to set up camp and went straight to the stream, stripping off her armor as she walked. Once there, she threw herself into the water fully clothed. The water was cold enough to make her gasp, but she knelt on the bottom and scrubbed at clothes and skin both with a handful of sand. She let her hair loose from its usual braid as well, leaning back in the shallow water and letting it run over her until she was sure all traces of the spider's innards were gone.

Alistair walked up just as she was clambering out. Her leg was weak and shaking beneath her, so she stopped where she was and waited for him to reach her.

"Here," he said, and tossed a bundle of clothes at her. She caught it and discovered he had brought her a pair of Morrigan's leggings and a plain linen shirt that had to be his, judging by the size. "You don't have a change of clothes, remember?"

She gave up any hope of trying to retain her dignity, sopping wet and shivering as she was. Not to mention feeling extremely foolish now that she had calmed down. She had forgotten that her only other shirt had been shredded, used as makeshift bandages until they were able to reach Lothering and find supplies. She'd need to pick up another when they got back to town.

"Thank you," she muttered, wondering how he wasn't laughing at her.

"You're welcome," he said, a little too brightly. He seemed determined to look anywhere but at her. Rhiann checked herself over, making sure she hadn't embarrassed herself further by exposing herself in some way. She couldn't find anything – the shirt was well made and thick enough that the water hadn't turned it sheer. All of her clothes were still in place.

She looked back at Alistair, who was still fidgeting nervously and appeared to be blushing.

_Maker's breath, just how sheltered was that Chantry? _she thought, amused by his discomfort. "If you'll turn around I'll change, and then you can stop pretending the grass is that interesting."

"My thanks," he breathed, blushing harder, and gave her his back. "I wanted to make sure you could make it back to camp on that leg."

She tested her weight on it gingerly and it began shaking violently beneath her. "Maybe."

"I'll wait then."

She started to argue that it wasn't really necessary, but changed her mind with a shrug and started stripping off her clothes.

"So," he said a moment later in a more normal tone of voice. "You don't like spiders."

She could hear the smile, and glared at his back as she wrung the worst of the water from her clothes. "No."

"Touchy. So I shouldn't find this wildly amusing, then?"

"No."

Her disgruntlement only seemed to entertain him further. "An army of darkspawn, complete with fully grown ogre, and she rushes in without hesitation. Faced with a giant bug, however-"

"It's not a giant bug." She pulled the shirt over her head and collected the pile of wet clothes before stepping in front of him so he could appreciate her glower. "It's a monster."

He only raised an eyebrow.

"Well it is. And it's poisonous, and dangerous, and … and what do they need all those legs for anyway?"

He stared at her for a second before he burst out laughing. "How on earth do you manage to sleep on the ground?"

"I'm done talking about this now."

"Aren't you afraid the smaller ones will come crawling..."

"Shut up, Alistair." She started to storm off, but had forgotten about her leg, and ended up grabbing his arm to avoid falling flat on her face.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop," he said, but he was still laughing. He bent down and before Rhiann realized what he was doing, he had scooped her up off her feet, sodden clothes and all. "But you have to admit, it _is_ kind of funny."

-oOo-

"Soo ... tell me again how having a crowd of armed lunatics at your back is a _good _thing."

Rhiann looked up from her work and rolled her eyes at him. "Because they're useful armed lunatics." She held up the shirt she was mending to check her stitching in the fading light. "And I plan to use you as a human shield, anyway, as per our usual arrangement."

"Oh, that's right." He leaned back against his pile of gear and closed his eyes. "Well, wake me if the bloodbath begins."

The camp had become more crowded in Lothering. Morrigan still acted the recluse on the edges of things, and some nights Rhiann was tempted to do the same. The addition of Leliana and Sten as well as the dwarven merchant and his son had made setting up for the night a noisy affair. Even after camp was up and dinner was cooking, there were clothes to be washed, weapons to be sharpened, and in Leliana's case, instruments to be tuned. Throughout all this Aiden ran around barking happily, enjoying the change.

Through some unspoken understanding Alistair and Rhiann tended to keep to themselves while in camp, gravitating towards each other in the evening and away from the others. She still didn't feel that she knew him very well – any attempt at a serious conversation, especially concerning him, was completely useless – but there was a certain comfort she took from his company. With the addition of more companions, she was beginning to realize more and more how different the two of them were from everyone else. The girl Rhiann had once been had truly died in that cellar, she thought. She had no idea who she was now, but at least she was trying to find out.

She finished the last stitch just as the lack of light was beginning to make her eyes water. She balled up the shirt and tossed it in Alistair's face, grinning when he sat up with a snort. "There. It's fixed."

"Well, you _are_ the one who tore it, you know."

"The hurlock trying to cleave me in half tore it. I was only wearing it."

"Yes, cursed darkspawn and their disregard for other people's things." He shoved the shirt into the pack at his back and yawned. "Thanks for mending it, by the way."

Rhiann looked over him in concern. There were dark circles under his eyes. "Maybe you'd better skip watch tonight."

"And leave you out there alone?"

"I'll get Sten to sit with me," she assured him, though she wondered privately if the recently imprisoned warrior was up to the task, either. She hadn't had him stand watch yet. "He feels we waste too much time with frivolous things like sleep anyway."

Alistair gave her a _look_. "Amazingly the idea of you out here alone with the qunari doesn't make it sound any better."

She smiled at the dry tone. He was still undecided about Sten. "He's safe."

"As only a blood besotted harbinger of death can be." He yawned again. "I'll be fine."

Rhiann hesitated. "You _have_ been pushing it kind of hard lately..."

"I know," he cut her off. "I'll be fine."

She sighed in frustration. Alistair's mood had dramatically improved after the night she spoke to him, but there was still an underlying fury that he was trying to work out. Luckily, he only took it out on enemies. Towards the rest of them, he was nearly normal again. Not that she could get him to talk about what was bothering him. It would take deflecting sarcasm and ridiculous explanations and whatever else he could throw at her before he ever got to the point...

"It's still hard sometimes," he said quietly, and she stared at him. Well, so much for that theory. The man was a walking conundrum.

He gave her a half smile. "I'm getting better though – really. I'm just anxious to get to Redcliffe. I'm worried about the Arl and his family. Sometimes I wish we could just leave this circus behind," he waved a hand, including the entire camp, "but you're right – we'll need their help."

She looked around at their companions. Morrigan was in the distance beside her own fire, trying to read. Leliana was strumming her lute in a distracted kind of way, chatting to Aiden. Sten was doing nothing, as usual.

Rhiann turned to Alistair and offered him a shrug. "I'm discovering that I have a penchant for collecting misfits and hard luck cases."

He smiled at her. "I suppose I'm very fortunate, then."


	4. Chapter 4

Rhiann was currently convinced that not only was the Maker still in the world, but he had an insatiable love for irony. The sole survivor of a noble house, paired with the last of the Theirin bloodline. Her house was dead, and she stripped of rank and title; he was an unacknowledged bastard son with no interest in pushing a claim to the throne.

There must be divine aid behind it – _someone_ had to be getting a laugh out of this situation.

Alistair had pulled her aside and confessed this little gem to her just before reaching Redcliffe. Rhiann could understand his desire not to announce his heritage to the world – especially considering the way his half brother's reign had ended – but she was equally certain it could have come up before this. She remembered thinking that for all the time they spent together, she still didn't know him very well. She might begin to, she thought sulkily, if he ever deigned to _tell_ her anything.

She was being petty and she knew it. Alistair's royal blood had nothing to do with what they were trying to accomplish. He had told her, despite how visibly uncomfortable it had made him, for no better reason than he wanted nothing to become awkward between them. Still, an irksome voice in the back of her mind dwelt on the secrecy, and Rhiann realized, with a bit of shock, that her feelings were hurt.

If she had been surly upon reaching Redcliffe, she was positively moody now. The blacksmith who refused to aid the militia because he'd rather drink himself blind, the girl in the Chantry who could find no one willing to help her find her brother, Morrigan's disdain for all of them – Rhiann had heard nothing but a stream of excuses since entering the town. Everyone had a justification for not helping the handful who would fight, and likely die, trying to protect them. They locked themselves away with only their fear for company, content to let someone else carry the burden.

Like everything else seemed to these days, it was falling to her.

It was because of this that her voice came out sharper than necessary when Murdoch told her of a dwarven fighter who had barricaded himself in his home. "Did you say Dwyn?"

The mayor looked startled. "Do you know him?"

The spirit of a long forgotten memory rose to her mind. Rhiann's mouth went into a straight, hard line. "I'll get him out here."

She marched towards the docks, her party hurrying to keep up with her.

"Did I miss something?" Alistair asked, trying and failing to keep pace with her. He settled instead for grabbing her arm and pulling her to a halt. "Do you know this dwarf?"

"We've met," she answered shortly. Only once, true, as the dwarf fled Orzammar. "I went through him once to buy a few … more exotic items."

Alistair just blinked at her. Leliana chuckled softly. "She means poisons."

She didn't want to see his reaction to that little tidbit, instead turning and picking up her angry stride again. She reached the door pointed out to her and pounded at it. "Dwyn! You wretched coward! Get out here!"

There was no answer. She stepped back and eyeballed the door's lock. It was simple enough, but her mood demanded a more violent solution. With something akin to a growl she kicked it as hard as she could. The wood gave with a satisfying crack and the door swung open.

"Well, look who it is," the dwarf sneered as she barged into his home. "I never thought I'd see you again, Lady-"

"Why aren't you helping the town?" she demanded.

Dwyn looked profoundly unconcerned at her display of temper. "And why should I? When has this town ever come to my assistance?"

Rhiann drew her blades, and the dwarf's expression changed from unconcerned to wary. The two burly men flanking him put their hands on their weapons. "I'm in an unimaginably foul temper," she informed him in a level tone. "Get out there and help, or die in here. I don't really care either way at this point."

Behind her she heard the scrape of weapons being unsheathed, and the air sizzled as Morrigan drew on the power around her. Rhiann hadn't been certain they would back up this blatant display of bullying, but was grateful. A fine thing it would have been for her to barge in issuing orders only to have her party stand by while these three beat her into a sludgy substance.

Dwyn glanced at the formidable group behind her and seemed to reconsider. It didn't take him long. "Fine," he shrugged. "Whatever you say, _my lady_."

Rhiann ignored the taunt and stepped aside. After he had stomped away, she rolled her shoulders and let out a long breath. She felt much better.

Alistair practically doubled over with laughter. "_That_ was the finest fit of pique I've ever had the honor to witness. I should make you angry more often."

She glanced at him wryly. "Oh, you do just fine."

-oOo-

Rhiann sighed as she looked at the town stretched out below her. The militia dotted the town square, looking from this vantage like tiny toy soldiers. The last of the civilians darted in between the armed men, making their way to the Chantry and hopefully, safety. There were only two hours left before sunset, and Rhiann could practically see the dark cloud of fear that began to overtake the scene as night approached.

She was sitting on the boarded walkway behind the tavern, enjoying a few stolen moments of solitude before darkness fell. She had done all she could to ready the town to defend itself. All she could do now was wait and hope that it was enough. Leliana had gone to the Chantry to pray. Alistair and Morrigan were helping the knights haul the oil to the hill – and ideally not killing each other in the process.

Alistair found her there a short time later, just as the light began to darken. Without speaking he sat down beside her, surveying the view below.

"They look ready," he commented after a moment.

"They look frightened."

He turned his attention to her, frowning slightly. "You did a good thing down there, Rhiann."

She concentrated on sharpening her dagger to avoid looking at him. "Let's hope so. I just hope I don't get them all killed."

"They have a chance now. They didn't before." He looked away, and Rhiann thought he looked nervous. "I was watching you today, working so hard to help a lot of people you don't even know. I just wanted to... thank you, I guess."

"It wasn't just up to me, you know."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Right."

"It wasn't. And what other choice did we have?"

"Well, that's kind of the point, isn't it?" He _was _nervous – she could see a blush beginning as he searched for the right words. "Thank you for being the type of person who didn't see any other choice." He looked down again, chuckling quietly to himself. "Hmm, that sounded better in my head."

She smiled, warmed more than she cared to admit. "I understood what you meant."

"Good," he said, obviously relieved. "Listen, I'm really bad at this sort of thing, so if you could just say You're Welcome Alistair and move on, that would be great."

Rhiann laughed. "You're welcome, Alistair."

"Much appreciated. Now, we should probably fetch the other two."

"Where did Morrigan disappear to, anyway?" she asked as he helped her to her feet.

"The tavern. I tried to tell her they probably didn't serve goat's blood, but..." he finished with a shrug.

"_Alistair_..."

"What? It was a sincere enough warning."

She shook her head and started for the hill. Alistair paused for a moment, looking down at the town quizzically. "Um, Rhiann?"

"Hm?"

"What _is_ it with you and _heights_?"

-oOo-

It was a stupid mistake, one she never would have made normally. In the ruins of the Circle Tower, spent from the harried journey to reach it in time and now surrounded by the frightening visages of the abominations, neither Rhiann or her companions were thinking rationally. With every moment she thought of those still trapped with the possessed child. Her mind constructed hundreds of ways they could even now be suffering – and it would be her fault. All because she didn't have the strength to make the hard decision. Standing in the castle, surrounded by the horrors of magic gone awry, Rhiann had unable to bring more death upon them. Unable to see past the corpses and slaughter and Alistair's eyes, pleading with her to do... _something_. As the days and hours and minutes continued to pass without a solution, though, she began to wonder if choosing a victim would have been a greater act of mercy than this.

Later she would blame this exhausted line of thinking for not seeing the trap that guarded the entrance to the room. All she could see at the moment was a room full of hostile, possessed Templars and the fact that half of her party consisted of magic users.

"Templars! Wynne, Morrigan, get back!"

And she stepped right into the concealed trap like a rank amateur. Pain exploded in her ankle as the trap snapped shut, leaving her helpless. The desire demon who controlled the heavily armored warriors laughed at the sight of her struggling and began to gather the spell that would surely finish her off.

Alistair was suddenly there, his body curled around her and holding his shield in front of both of them just before blue energy exploded around them. She heard him hiss in pain as he took the brunt of what remained of the spell. Rhiann had barely comprehended what had just happened when he was up, shoving his way into the room as Morrigan's magical shield surrounded him.

Wynne's healing magic enveloped her, and Rhiann managed to struggle back to her feet, ignoring the lingering pain in her ankle as she ran, ducking a wayward swing from one of the Templars. She caught the demon in the throws of another casting and struck out with the pommel of her sword, bashing it in the mouth with a crunch. The thing screamed and cried for her Templars to aid her, but Alistair had their full attention and they did not hear her.

A few moments later it lay dead at Rhiann's feet.

She didn't pause, but turned to assist Alistair. Before she could reach him, a swirling gust of wind and snow blocked them from sight. Rhiann looked around frantically for the other caster and found Morrigan. She had dared leaving the safety of the hallway to help. As the spell faded, Alistair was left standing unharmed, surrounded by ice statues of his enemies. Together the party did away with them.

He wiped his brow with the back of his arm and stared at Morrigan in disbelief. "I have to say, I never thought I'd see you risk Templars for my sake." He glanced at the shattered remains around him. "How did you manage to hit them and not me, anyway?"

Morrigan snorted and crossed her arms before turning her back on him. "I missed."

-oOo-

Leliana did not like being left behind. She liked even less being left behind with Sten, who could ignore her attempts to speak with him for hours on end. Instead she and Aiden spent much of the time at the shore of the lake, waiting anxiously for any sign of their companions. She had been given only a brief message from a reluctant Templar, stating that due to problems in the tower her friends were delayed.

That had been a day and a half ago.

She wanted nothing more than to storm the tower herself and demand answers, but there was a small flaw in her plan. The boat had not been returned to this side of the lake. The Templars were not going to risk any more unexpected visitors.

So she paced, and paced some more, waiting.

Leliana had tried to convince Rhiann to take her along instead – surely barging into the Circle Tower with an ex-Templar and an Apostate in tow would make her the most unwelcome guest _ever_, but the Warden had been adamant. They heard too many rumors on the journey here, whispered stories that control of the Tower had been lost. Alistair and Morrigan knew how to handle such things better than the bard, Rhiann said, and grudgingly, Leliana was forced to agree.

She still didn't like it, anyhow, as she idly circled the empty camp again, glaring at Sten the entire time. She both envied and despised his stoicism.

Aiden suddenly leaped to his feet, his head cocked to one side. With a happy bark he abruptly bolted for the lake edge, racing along the shore and barking like a thing possessed. Leliana shielded her eyes from the sun, now low in the horizon, and looked out over the water. Her own cry of delight escaped her when she spotted the tiny vessel plodding along the sparkling surface.

She reached Alistair first, who carried an older, barely conscious woman in his arms. He looked awful, utterly exhausted and filthy, but he offered her a tired smile as she rushed up and threw an arm around his neck in a hug, nearly knocking all three of them over in her exuberance.

"Who is this?" she asked, breathless from her run.

"A mage from the tower. She's fine," he added quickly. "Just worn out."

"I've been so worried!" Leliana scolded, wringing her hands. "What happened? Is everyone else alright?"

Alistair shifted the weight of the woman he carried, strengthening his hold. "You don't mind too much if I sit down _before_ the epic tale? She's not getting any lighter, you know."

She nearly stomped her foot in frustration. "Ooh, don't tease me! I've been here for two days – you were just supposed to ask the mages for help! None of those wretched Templars would tell me anything and it's been terrible!"

"I'm sorry, Leliana," he said, quite sincerely. "I promise I'll tell you every horrid and ghastly detail, but I've got to rest first."

Her eyes flew once again to the dark circles under his eyes, his hair limp with sweat. She bit her lip, abashed. "You are well, yes? Do you need any help?"

"And here I was beginning to wonder if you cared," he smiled, then nodded to the pier. Morrigan was disembarking, leaning heavily on her staff. "Help her, would you? She's completely drained."

Leliana trotted down to the water's edge, wondering what world Alistair lived in that he could think Morrigan would ever consent to her assistance.

Morrigan's hand shot up in warning as she approached. "I saw your last greeting. None of that, if you please."

The witch certainly looked weaker than Leliana had ever seen her, exhausted and somehow smaller. Her heart suddenly filled with pity for her. "Do you need any help?"

"T'will not be necessary, thank you," Morrigan said stiffly. Rhiann appeared beside her, grinning widely.

"She is the stubborn sort, isn't she?" she said brightly, and draped one of Morrigan's arms around her own shoulders before the taciturn apostate could protest. Much to Leliana's amazement, Morrigan did not pull away, merely scowled.

Together they made their slow way up the hill to the campsite.

Sten, showing more concern than Leliana would have credited him for, had already begun unpacking their healing supplies. He greeted Rhiann with a curt nod. "You have returned. Good. We can make several miles before nightfall."

"We're not going anywhere today," Alistair argued, emerging from Rhiann's tent where he had apparently deposited Wynne. "We can reach Redcliffe tomorrow evening."

"There is still much daylight left. You would have us waste it?" Sten's eyebrows drew together.

Rhiann sank down into the soft grass, apparently debating with herself. "Sten has a point."

"No."

Leliana started a little at the commanding tone, completely foreign for Alistair.

"You're dangerously exhausted," he continued. "That is, all of you are. Morrigan's magic is spent and we've injuries to deal with as well. And I don't much fancy trying to protect a lot of reckless women with this." He held up the shield that Uldred had cracked clean down the center, then tossed it aside. "Tomorrow is as good a time as any."

Rhiann still seemed inclined to argue. "But Connor..."

"Irving and his mages are on their way. They can keep him under control."

She sighed, then flopped back on the grass. "You win," she said wearily. The collective sigh of relief almost drowned out Sten's disapproving growl.

Leliana sat down beside her friend and looked her over critically. "You need a bath."

"I know." Rhiann wrinkled her nose slightly. "I stink. A need to eat as well, but to be honest, it doesn't much look like I'm going to move from this spot."

"There's a tavern at the top of the hill," Leliana suggested. "You can get cleaned up in the lake, and I'll go up and find us something nice for our supper for a change, yes?"

"I'll take care of that, Leliana," Alistair said softly, joining them and looking down at Rhiann in evident concern. "Are you sure you're all right?"

She gave him a weak smile, but she looked pale. "I'm sure. Just very tired."

He didn't look very reassured. Rhiann closed her eyes for a moment and Alistair took the opportunity to shoot Leliana a look, glancing at Rhiann and back at her again. She understood immediately. He was concerned she had injuries she wasn't telling them about.

"Come, then, my friend," Leliana said brightly, pulling the weary girl to her feet. "Let's go make you more presentable."

Alistair nodded his thanks and deftly lifted the bag of coin from Rhiann's belt to take to the tavern. Leliana wondered if he realized the way his expression changed every time he looked at his fellow Warden, or how apparent it was that his devotion to her grew by the day.

She shook her head. Knowing men as she did, she very much doubted it.

-oOo-

She was beautiful.

He had of course noticed it before. He would have to be a blind idiot not to. But matters like betrayal and tragedy and looming Blights had a way of blurring such lines of thinking. To him, she was the other Warden, his surviving Sister. Time and effort had changed that status to friend. That in itself was a step for him. Alistair had never exactly had droves of friends to boast of, and had been surprised and pleased to learn she thought of him as such.

These new sensations she was invoking in him, however, were far less welcome. He was unsure how to deal with them and therefore tried to shove them aside. It was becoming more and more difficult. That blasted day by the stream, he thought. She had emerged from the water with her ebony hair trailing down her back to her waist, her clothes clinging to previously concealed curves. In that instant she had gone from another Warden whose company he enjoyed to something distinctly more _feminine_.

That evening by the fire they regaled Leliana with the promised tale of the harrowing experience. Rhiann sat beside him, turned away slightly but leaning against him. He concentrated very hard on _not_ noticing the warmth that drenched his side through her clothing, or how soft she felt against him when things like armor and weapons weren't in the way. She let him do most of the talking, yawning occasionally. Leliana had assured him after giving Rhiann a thorough scrubbing that she was unhurt, though she did appear to be covered in bruises. He wasn't sure he understood the knowing gleam in her eyes that had come with that report – was even less sure that he _wanted_ to.

Rhiann yawned again and rested her head on his shoulder, nearly scattering his train of thought. He ordered himself to pull it together. Her demeanor indicated nothing more that comfortable familiarity. He wasn't going to jeopardize that. She liked him, she _trusted_ him, and he would be the worst kind of fool to drive her away because he couldn't keep his _hormones_ in check.

When had everything gotten so wretchedly _complicated_?

-oOo-

Alistair awoke the next morning with a muted groan before he opened his eyes. He must have been more exhausted than he thought. He remembered only that the grass was comfortable enough beneath the blanket and the night was warm – he must have fallen asleep where he sat. His back was protesting in the harsh light of day, having discovered just how uneven the ground really _was_ beneath him while he slept.

He shifted slightly to stretch his arms over his head, grimacing.

_What the_...?

He peeked one eye open and looked down for the source of the soft weight at his side. Rhiann was curled up under his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. Sometime someone, probably Leliana, had tossed a blanket over both of them.

Rhiann shivered in her sleep and shifted closer to him, instinctively shying away from the chill morning.

Remarkably, his back didn't seem to hurt anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

The other Warden hated him.

Zevran held no illusions of friendship in this camp. When Rhiann had returned to her waiting group with the assassin in tow, he had been met with equal parts disbelief and distrust, and then largely ignored. Except for Alistair, whose hostility emanated from him every time he glanced in Zevran's direction. He had been against taking the assassin along from the start, but Rhiann had been insistent. Zevran studied the way she talked him around to agreeing with her, and by the time Alistair had given his grudging acceptance, Zevran could feel only pity for the poor man. She was deliciously persuasive, that one – he'd have to be on guard against her.

As a general rule – or, rather, he intended to make it a general rule, in case this ever happened to him again – he spent the first night studying this colorful little group of characters, sensing the chain of command. Rhiann was the leader, but then he had realized that from the moment he hadn't been killed. The other Warden seemed to have a standing of his own, showing deference only to her. The others probably considered him as her second. Zevran regarded him as a glorified lapdog and dismissed him. The rest just seemed to fall in behind these two, using their talents to contribute where they could. Though the one called Sten made no illusion of agreeing with the female Warden, Zevran was amazed to see that she stood her ground against the qunari, arms crossed and eyes blazing as she argued against his protests. The qunari walked away first, seemingly satisfied with her answers.

Fascinating.

Zevran shifted uncomfortably and sighed to himself. If they were going to allow him to live, he thought, they might have been less thorough in the thrashing they gave him first.

The Orlesian joined him there a short time later, carrying a small bag of medicines, judging from the smell. The elder healer had quite deliberately skipped him in her rounds.

"Here," she said gently. "I've no skill with healing, but you're not injured too badly, no?"

That, he thought, was open for debate. With Leliana's help, he stripped off his shirt and allowed her to clean and bandage the various cuts. As she worked, he watched the Wardens, sitting together at the edge of camp. Their relationship was a bit of a mystery to him.

"The Wardens?" he asked. "How long have they been traveling together?"

"Hmmm … four months? I'm not certain. I joined them in Lothering."

The answer confounded him. Leliana apparently read the direction of his thoughts – another dangerous one, he noted – and said, "The members of the order share a particular bond. I used to see it Orlais. Something happens to them after their Joining."

"What, I wonder?"

She shrugged delicately. "The Joining is a secret, no? The Grey Wardens keep their secrets. Those two are no exception."

"And how does one such as yourself end up under the employ of such fearsome secret keepers?"

She stiffened, and Zevran could immediately see he had said the wrong thing. "I am under nobody's _employ_. I wanted to help. They were kind enough to allow me to."

"My apologies then. Rather, I am somewhat curious as to how you met up with the only remaining Wardens in this part of the world."

"That was the Maker's hand. He brought them to me, and told me I was to follow."

Zevran had no idea how to respond to that. Apparently, sanity was not a prerequisite in Rhiann's friends. Instead, he changed the subject. "Have you ever met any other Wardens? I understand there is an order in Orlais."

"I was a minstrel. That kind of life opens you to meeting many different people."

A minstrel? Zevran laughed softly to himself. He had already witnessed first hand the woman's talents. If she was a traveling storyteller, then he was the king of Ferelden.

Rhiann got up from her place beside Alistair and came towards them. For a split second, Alistair's eyes followed her, and Zevran finally saw something there he could recognize.

So, she was available, then.

"Thank you, Leliana," Rhiann said as she sat herself in front of them. "Wynne's bark is worse than her bite. I'm sure she'll be along to check your work shortly."

Leliana giggled. "No doubt. I just thought someone should make an effort to welcome him before Alistair's glaring frightened him away."

"He'll get over it," Rhiann's eyes met Zevran's frankly. "I wouldn't push him if I were you, though."

Zevran laughed, utterly without humor. "Ah, my beautiful Warden, believe me when I say I have been on the frightening end of your swords quite enough for one lifetime."

Rhiann growled irritably when her pleasant dozing was disturbed by raised voices outside of her tent. She pulled the pillow off of her head and cocked her head to listen.

Alistair and Morrigan.

Of course.

She let her head drop and yanked the pillow back over her head, annoyed. The constant stream of snarky comments those two could unleash was truly remarkable, she supposed. She closed her eyes, determined to go back to sleep, when she felt the familiar pull in her chest that signaled Alistair's feelings had ventured past surface annoyance.

He was _furious_.

Frustrated at being forced to play nanny, Rhiann kicked her blankets back and stormed out of the tent.

Alistair and Morrigan were standing disturbingly close to each other. The yelling had stopped, replaced by low, hissed insults. Rhiann had never seen either one so angry.

"I don't have anything to prove to you."

"Indeed? Then it wasn't you who spent a pivotal battle cowering in a tower?"

"Why don't you slither back into your hole, witch?" Alistair snarled. "Flemeth's possession could only serve as an improvement."

Rhiann took off at a run, but she couldn't reach them in time. Morrigan stepped back and projected her spell with a single word of power. Alistair's stance changed as the magic enveloped him. The spell fizzled and died away, and Morrigan was hurdled back, narrowing missing the campfire.

Rhiann threw herself in between them.

"Enough! There won't be any blowing up of anybody – EITHER of you!"

Morrigan got to her feet slowly, glaring the entire time. She refused to dust herself off, but crossed her arms in supreme unconcern. Alistair still hadn't relaxed his posture. Rhiann put a hand on his chest and gave him a little shove to motivate him. "Go – cool off."

With a muttered curse, he stalked off into the trees.

Morrigan stomped away, back to her own fire.

Rhiann took a deep breath and turned to Leliana and Zevran. "What on earth happened? How did she set him off like that?"

Leliana rolled her eyes. "She was looking for a fight, that's how. Alistair was telling me about that final battle at Ostagar – I've been asking him to for weeks," she looked at Rhiann apologetically. "I didn't know! I'm sorry – I just wanted to here the story from someone who had been there..."

Rhiann waved off her concern. "If he wasn't ready to tell you about it, he wouldn't have. I take it Morrigan had her own narration to contribute?"

"Oh, she did," Zevran said. "I'm rather surprised that you were able to keep the _blowing up_, as you put it, from occurring." He turned to Leliana with a curious look. "Can he actually do that, I wonder?"

Rhiann sighed. She had hoped that Alistair and Morrigan would learn to tolerate each other eventually, but tensions between them had only been festering in the time they had been together. It was time for her to do something about it.

-oOo-

Morrigan stared down at her hands in frustration. Rhiann guessed she had tried to summon her power and failed utterly.

"It's not the smartest thing you've ever done, you know, shooting spells at a Templar who was both ready and furious."

Morrigan spared her a single glance and returned to her reading. "I've no desire to speak of it."

"Tough. I do." She sat down on the ground and calmly stared at Morrigan until the other woman snapped her book shut with a growl.

"I realize that you feel that it is your responsibility to play mother to all of us, Warden, but I have no need for your coddling. Go dry the tears of that fool who stormed out of here, if you so desire."

Rhiann put her hands up. "Fine, no coddling." She crossed her arms and leaned back against a fallen log. "I'll just tell you, then – this doesn't happen again."

"What? Alistair bursting into hysterics? I'm afraid you'll have quite a lot of work on your hands then."

Rhiann didn't rise to the bait. "Call him an idiot if you have to, make fun of his training and whatever else catches your fancy – I don't care, he can handle himself. But I won't tolerate _anything_ that endangers the work I have to do here. You could have seriously hurt him, just now."

"You won't _tolerate _-"

"No, I won't." Rhiann got to her feet, dusting the dirt and leaves off of her backside. "You're not fooling anyone. You need me – us – for something. So you can play by my rules, or you can leave."

Morrigan shot to her feet, furious. "How _dare_ you try to order me about like I am one of these _puppets _who follow your every whim. I've put up with nothing but poorly disguised insults from that idiot since the moment my mother _forced_ me to accompany you."

"You're right."

"I'm … what?"

Rhiann nearly smiled at the woman's stunned expression. "You're right. He's treated you as a subhuman, and you've been a great help to us. You've even saved his life once or twice, which I'll be sure to remind him of." It had never occurred to her that Alistair's baiting had bothered Morrigan. Sometimes it was hard to remember that she must have had regular feelings, as determined as she was to discount them.

Morrigan's eyes were huge. "You – you're agreeing with me?"

"I'm trying to keep this dysfunctional lot together. I need your help – all of you. You might remember that, next time you have a complaint, rather than resort to fatal spell work."

Morrigan made a noncommittal noise. "I knew he could dispel it."

"Of course you did."

-oOo-

"Rhiann."

Warm and comfortable and utterly exhausted, Rhiann was loathe to return from her dreams. The voice grew more persistent, though, and added a shake for good measure. "Rhiann, wake up."

"Hrm."

"Of all times to turn into a heavy sleeper. Wake up – I need to talk to you."

She yawned and rubbed her eyes, looking around for the source of the voice. "Alistair?"

She could barely see him in the first soft purple light of dawn. He was crouched just outside her tent, still wearing his chain shirt.

"You came back," she mumbled, still half asleep.

He looked at her like she had grown another head. "Of course I came back. Did you think I wouldn't?"

She was waking up more by the second, and the memories of the previous night came flooding back to her. "Well, I don't know," she snapped. "The entire camp set out looking for you last night, you know. Everyone was worried about you."

He had the decency to look chagrined. "I'm sorry – I just had to get away for a little while." Seeing no response forthcoming on her end, he began to fidget nervously. "If you're going to keep yelling at me, could you at least come out here?"

"No."

He obviously hadn't been expecting that, to judge from the almost comical look on his face. "No?"

"No." She flopped back down to her pillow. "I was up all night worrying about some moron who went traipsing into the woods unarmed. If you want to talk to me, you can come in here. I'm not getting up."

He hesitated for the barest moment before ducking inside. "Rhiann, I really am sorry."

"What do you want?"

"I'm not exactly sure now. I wasn't expecting you to be this mad at me."

He wasn't expecting her to be mad? After the night she had been through? She sat up angrily, and threw her pillow at him for good measure. "Of course I'm mad at you! You just took off, and no one could find you, and I had no idea if you were coming back, or if you were even _alive_, and I only just fell asleep, you know - and …and I can't do this alone, Alistair!"

He seemed to get smaller as her tirade went on. "I'm -"

"Maker help me, if you say you're sorry again I'll _stab_ you."

She rubbed her eyes and pulled her knees to her chest, and buried her face in her arms so he couldn't see how near tears she was. The combination of being tired and angry and relieved all at once was playing havoc on her nerves. She was so utterly exhausted, and growing more unsure of herself by the day. She couldn't lead these people, she didn't know how. She had fallen asleep with the weight of knowing she may have to do it on her own, and now he was sitting there, unharmed, and the flood of emotions was rising up to choke her. Tears began falling despite her determination to hold them back.

"Are you _crying_?" he sounded so horrified by the prospect that she almost laughed. Almost.

"No."

"Then look at me."

"Go _away_."

She heard him sigh as he moved closer to her, then his arms were around her and Rhiann wanted to bury herself in his embrace and _sob_ but she restrained herself.

"I tried to warn you from the beginning that I was an idiot, you know."

She wiped her eyes with the palm of her hands and forced herself to stop crying.

"Rhiann, please? I had no idea you knew how to cry. It's damaging my view of the world."

He _wasn't_ going to make her laugh, but was calmer now, and feeling more than a little silly at this outburst. "Then you shouldn't disturb a crazy person from a sound sleep," she muttered.

"Would stabbing me _help_?"

The giggle burst from her despite her efforts to hold it back. "Ugh, don't make me laugh when I'm hysterical. I may have drooled on you a little."

He chuckled. "I'll recover. So – do you want to tell me what brought this on? Or should I just skip ahead to the self-loathing?"

"It's not you. It's not _just_ you. It's the fighting and the assassins and the possessed children, and I'm always terrified I'm going to do or say the wrong thing, and everyone's always looking at me to _fix_ it for them."

"I know," he said quietly. "I'll admit I've been more than happy to let you take the lead in this, as has everyone else, if you hadn't noticed."

"Only because I somehow ended up the scapegoat here."

"No - because you _do_ fix it for them, and keep them going when they can't do it themselves."

She sniffed.

"And you know, you do have me to help you, for all the good it does you."

She gave him a small smile. "It helps."

"Good." Hesitantly, he reached up and brushed a lock of ebony hair out of her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. I can promise you at least that much."

Outside the tent, Aiden began barking loudly, followed closely by Morrigan screeching. "Rhiann! Get up and get this _blasted dog_!"

With a sigh, Rhiann wiped her face and squared her shoulders, climbing out of the tent to face the day.

That small action stirred his heart more than anything else had.


	6. Chapter 6

A cool wind blew from the north, carrying with it dark clouds – foreboding omens of the fading summer. Rhiann pulled her cloak tighter around herself as she reached the top of the hill, swearing quietly when the wind pummeled her with renewed fury. The road twisted out before her, a muddy brown swath that sliced through the tall grasses and would eventually lead to Denerim.

"Three more days, do you think?' she asked Alistair as he panted up the last crest of the hill.

"At least," he breathed, pushing back the hood of his cloak and running an idle hand through his hair. "I've never made this journey on foot before, so I'm not entirely sure." He glanced up at the sky, frowning a little. "Are you thinking we should hole up for a while?"

"It crossed my mind. Do you know of any towns between here and Denerim?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Nothing I can remember specifically, but this is settled land. We can't go too much further without finding civilization."

"So if we take the next fork from the main road?"

"It'll take us somewhere, yes." He pulled the hood of his cloak back up. "With any luck, the weather will hold long enough for us to reach it, too."

Just then thunder rumbled in the distance, and the first drops of rain fell to the hardened dirt at their feet with a soft patter.

Rhiann looked at him. "This is your fault, you know."

"Oh, shut up."

They pushed on for another mile before a graveled path broke away from the main road and rambled south. The rain became heavier, from a steady fall to a downpour, making it difficult to see. Rhiann was ready to give up on the idea of real shelter and give her grumbling the companions the go ahead to set up camp when she spotted the vague shapes of buildings in the distance. Eager now at the prospect of being dry again, the group picked up their pace.

"Doesn't look like much," she commented to Alistair when the small settlement became more visible, a scattered collection of round houses and buildings that looked as if they had been strewn across the hills with no real thought or planning.

"No, but I can promise they're accustomed to travelers, this close to the capital. I…" he stopped dead in his tracks just as Rhiann felt it, a kind of rolling tug in her chest.

"Oh no."

All concern for the rain forgotten, Alistair called back a warning to the trailing party before following her in, both drawing their weapons as they ran.

"Darkspawn!"

The village looked deserted at first glance, the pouring rain drowning out all sounds of life. The hood of her cloak narrowed her vision, but to push it back allowed the rain to sheet down her face and make her vision even worse. Rhiann, accustomed to relying on her senses as much as her weapons, was vastly uncomfortable walking into the unfamiliar situation.

A building larger than the others sat at the edge of the town, at the end of what looked like the circle. The area was cobbled well maintained, a well sitting directly in the center. There they found what must have been the resistance against the roving band of creatures. A dozen corpses littered the scene, the cobbles running with rain and blood both in tainted rivulets. Alistair knelt beside the first of them and gently turned him over. His eyebrows pulled together in confusion at the site of an old man, clutching what appeared to be a table dagger in his fist.

"Maker's breath – these people didn't stand a chance! Why didn't the local lord provide them with protection?"

Rhiann heard a whimper, and saw one of the bodies struggling feebly to rise. She pointed him out to Alistair and ran over to him, her dismay increasing when she saw he was little more than a boy, fourteen or fifteen at most. His dark eyes were wide with pain as he clutched his arm. Blood poured down one side of his face.

"D-darkspawn. Here..."

"We know." Rhiann waved Wynne over. "Where did they go?"

He pointed to the large building. "The…hall. Please – the others are hiding…"

Rhiann stood up as Wynne reached them. "Do what you can for him. The rest of you with me!"

Grim at the sight of such slaughter no one argued, falling in line behind her as she entered the hall. As soon as she pushed the doors open cries of terror and wails of children assaulted them, coming from below, all punctuated by the guttural roars of the darkspawn. The village folk must have taken to the cellar for safety.

Rhiann hurried down the stairs, stripping off her sodden cloak and tossing aside to free her arms. The scene at the foot of the stairs was one filled with darkspawn. A small clot of villagers cowered in the corner of the large space, clinging to each other as a handful of men tried to fight the monsters off with simple weapons. As she watched one of the men was lifted into the air, gasping and choking while the darkspawn mercilessly hacked at his helpless form.

"Morrigan, kill the Emissary!" Rhiann yelled, and saw the other woman nod and summon her power. A dizzying blow caught Rhiann in the face, sending her flying backwards. She shook her head to clear it and immediately saw an Alpha standing over her, swinging downward. She rolled backwards and sprang to her feet, then realized her mistake. She was completely cut off from the others and the darkspawn were surrounding her. She fell back and parried rather than attack, dodging swipes from wicked weapons and narrowly ducking blows that could have cut her in half. She struck out at exposed flesh when it presented itself, thinning the numbers even as she battled to stay alive long enough for her friends to fight through.

It did not take long for the darkspawn to realize they did not want her party at their back, but she was tiring from the brutality of the initial attack and weighed down by wet leather armor. Desperate, she slashed at the exposed throat of a genlock. Blood spurted and the monster fell back, but she had overreached herself. White hot pain tore through her side and Rhiann stumbled back against the wall, clutching at the wound. Blood welled and ran over her fingers. The world danced and spun, but she willed the dizziness away, knowing if she fainted now it would mean the death of her. She raised her sword in time to parry another attack, but her legs were weakening beneath her.

Abruptly three of the monsters she faced fell back, snarls ripping through them as they faced a new threat. Alistair had pushed his way through the line, Sten following close behind, his sword bloodied to the hilt. Even as more darkspawn surrounded him Alistair held his ground, putting himself in greater danger by focusing more on shoving them back then defending himself.

"Zevran!" he yelled, angling a particularly brutal blow at the face of a hurlock. "Get in there!"

Zevran was suddenly in front of her, leaping through the hole Alistair had created. His blades flashed and twirled as he fought to draw the last two of her tormentors off of their weakening target.

The ground seemed to lurch beneath Rhiann's feet and she would have fallen if not for a pair of soft arms that caught her and guided her to the floor.

"Alistair!" Leliana called, settling Rhiann's head in her lap, "Fetch Wynne! Hurry!"

Zevran yanked his dagger out of the eye socket of the last darkspawn and promptly dropped his weapons, falling to his knees beside them.

"It's not bad," Rhiann gasped through gritted teeth, even as she fought to stave off the strange dizziness. "Help me keep pressure on it."

He did as she asked, grimacing when she could not hold back a cry of pain as he pressed against the wound. "Your Wynne is coming," he said in the gentlest tone she had heard from him yet. Rhiann fought to hold on to consciousness, mentally pushing at the darkness that crept on the edges of her vision. Zevran watched her in concern, then leaned forward only slightly and sniffed the air.

"She's been poisoned," he said in a low tone to Leliana.

Rhiann gasped, but forced herself to stay calm. She had dealt with enough poisons in her life to know panic would only make matters worse. _Think of something – anything else._

The whimpering of the villagers drew her notice. How many were left? How many of her _party_ were left? "Zevran, the others…" Her words sounded strangely slurred, and panic began to rise against her precautions.

"They are all fine," he said shortly. "The darkspawn were positively elated to turn the fight to us, and it was bloodiest around Alistair and yourself."

"He fought to get to you in time," Leliana whispered. "We never would have reached you if not for Alistair."

Rhiann could not answer. The walls swelled as darkness closed in, and then she knew no more.

-oOo-

A crash echoed around her and Rhiann jerked awake, yanked from troubling dreams of pain and fear. A dull glow filled her vision and she couldn't remember where she was. Frantically she tried to sit up, but a ripping sensation across her middle stopped her. Gentle hands caught her shoulders.

"Easy – you're going to hurt yourself."

At the sound of Alistair's voice she stopped struggling, relief flooding through her. The nightmare still hovered on the fringes of her mind and she shuddered.

"Come on, Rhiann – lie down. You're hurt worse than you thought."

She realized she was still propped up on her elbows and did as he asked. The movement caused a burning in her side and her head was swimming. "Where are we?"

"The tavern. The owner offered us the common room for shelter."

The tavern – in the village. Her vision began to clear and adjust to the darkness. She could barely make out Alistair's features in the glow of a dying fire. He was lying on the floor beside her, supported by his elbow and looking down at her in concern. The sleeping forms of the rest of her friends were all around her, their bedrolls spread out on a stone floor in front of a small hearth.

Another crash thundered around them and made her jump, but Alistair laid a calming hand on her waist. "It's okay. It's just the storm."

That's right – it had been raining. She still felt groggy and drowsy and it was difficult to keep her thoughts in order. "I can't believe I passed out," she murmured.

He looked at her like she was insane. "Yes, because I expect my friends to jump up and dance with a major stab wound." He let out a long breath and ran his hand over his face. "Maker's blood, woman, if you ever scare me like that again I'm liable to kill you myself."

"I'm sorry. It was stupid."

"Yes, it was stupid. And reckless and foolhardy and – human shield, remember?" He closed his eyes and sighed. "Just – don't do that to me again."

She looked around, realizing for the first time in her fuzzy state just how quiet it was. "How long have I been out?"

He shrugged. "A while. It's the middle of the night."

"Did I wake you?"

"No."

There was a wealth of meaning in that simple response. He was awake in the middle of the night because of _her_, had lied down beside her to ensure he would be there when she woke up. The thought of him watching over her – _protecting_ her – while she was injured filled her with an emotion she couldn't quite put a name to, and without thinking she laid a hand over the one still resting at her waist. "You look terrible, you know."

He gave her a crooked grin. "So do you." His hand moved slightly beneath hers, raising up to thread his fingers though hers.

"From what I hear I'm allowed to after a major stab wound."

"That's the rumor, anyway." He was lying near enough to reach her with the arm that supported him, and gently he ran the back of his fingers along her cheek. "This nearly dying thing only gets to be funny once. Let's not do it again. Agreed?"

Rhiann smiled up at him sleepily. "I'll never scare you again."

He smiled softly in return and leaned down to press his lips against her forehead. "Get some rest. I think you're still delirious."

"Well, I can try not to scare you, anyway," she murmured as her eyes closed.

"I suppose that will have to do, then."

Rhiann drifted back to sleep, Alistair toying with a strand of her hair and her hand still entwined in his.

The nightmares let her be.

-oOo-

"Really, Alistair, _move_."

"Ow - alright, alright – stop kicking me."

"If you weren't so difficult to wake up I wouldn't have to kick you. Now move aside – I have to tend to our other Warden."

Rhiann tried to open her eyes, but groaned and slammed them shut again when sunlight seemed to burn the back of her eyeballs. "Someone close those shutters, please."

She heard a creak and the light trying to penetrate her eyelids dimmed, allowing her to blink cautiously. Wynne was kneeling down beside her with her sack of supplies. "Good – you're awake," she said with a kind smile. "You gave us quite a scare yesterday."

"So I've been told." She looked around. Morrigan and Leliana were sitting on top of one of the long tables that had been pushed to the edge of the room. Alistair flopped down beside them, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

"Trying to gather news," Wynne said briefly. "The townsfolk are evacuating to Denerim. Apparently," her face twisted into a disgusted expression, "The local lord came through here several days ago and enlisted all able bodied men to guard _his_ journey to the capital. These people have been left with no protection."

Leliana looked sick, and Alistair swore softly beneath his breath. Morrigan examined her fingernails. Rhiann closed her eyes and looked away. The country was crumbling around them. She wondered, briefly, just what would be left worth saving if things continued on this way. Suddenly she saw herself as very small and insignificant, a little girl trying to hold off an army with sticks.

"How are you feeling, Rhiann?" Leliana asked with forced cheer, her soft smile strained. Rhiann felt sorry for her. The brave face the gentle bard presented at all times was sometimes a heart wrenching thing to see.

"I feel fine," she answered as convincingly as she could, and in truth, she did feel better than she had expected. Her head was completely clear and the pain was bearable, a dull burning ache in her side.

Wynne nodded sagely. "The wound you took was not too serious, but you lost a lot of blood before I could reach you. Luckily Zevran recognized the poison immediately, so we were able to counter it."

Rhiann glanced up at Alistair as the healer began to cut through the bandages wrapped around her middle and gave him her best I-told-you-so look. He only rolled his eyes and yawned.

"This is healing nicely," Wynne said a moment later in a satisfied voice. Rhiann supposed she would have to take the mage's word for it. The injury certainly looked grisly enough to her, a ragged diagonal slice just above her hip bone puckered with stitches. "You should be up and about by this evening."

"Good – I want to leave in the morning," Rhiann said.

Wynne's mouth went in a straight line as she began to wash out the stitches. "I don't know if that's wise."

"We can't afford to linger here. Denerim is only a couple of days from here. I'm going to have to ask you to use your magic to heal this as often as possible."

"It's more complicated than that. Magic can speed up the process, but there is still danger of infection and if you have to fight again, which seems very likely, the whole thing could reopen. You need to _rest_."

"Wynne," Rhiann said gently but firmly, "I don't have time to _rest_. These people have been abandoned – do you really think they're the only ones? We have to see for ourselves what's happening in Denerim."

"Rhiann?" Alistair broke in. "About this town – the militia took all the decent weapons when they left."

"And?"

"Well, we've been loading up Sten like a pack mule for a few weeks now. I know we were planning to sell all of that stuff, but..."

Rhiann nodded, somewhat annoyed that she hadn't thought of that herself. "Hand what we have out to the ones left who at least know which end of a sword to hold."

Wynne was still shaking her head. "Rhiann, over exerting yourself is not going to help anyone. I think we can at least give you another day to heal."

Rhiann was about to argue, but Alistair got in ahead of her, saying in an overly sunny tone, "Oh come on, Wynne. It's not truly an adventure if _someone_ isn't in danger of losing their innards. If she opens up I'm sure one of these more dexterous types can catch them for her before they roll about in the dirt."

Leliana began to giggle. It was a ghastly sort of mirth, as if she wasn't sure if she were laughing or weeping. She covered her mouth with her hand and tried to choke the sound off, but failed. It was contagious. Rhiann found herself chuckling as well.

"Ow – ugh, don't make me laugh."

Alistair put a hand over his eyes, but she could see him start to twitch as well. "Does anybody else wonder when we got so comfortable with the whole gloom and doom and guts in the street humor?"

Leliana collapsed against his shoulder, shaking with silent laughter, and Morrigan turned away before the other two could see her smile.

Wynne pursed her lips and glowered at them all in turn. "What is this, a group of crazy people?"

"You only now just noticed?" Leliana asked in feigned wide-eyed innocence, and Alistair bit his lip, trying to hold back the laughter racking through him. Morrigan held a hand to her mouth but Rhiann could see her shoulders shaking.

Rhiann clutched at her side. "Ow, I think you may actually tear me open if you don't stop," she wheezed, still laughing.

"Quickly, Leliana, go and hold her together," Morrigan gasped, and Alistair and Leliana nearly fell over in glee.

Wynne shook her head and got to her feet. "I swear, Maker save me from the strange humor of fools and lunatics!"


	7. Chapter 7

The camp was even more rambunctious than normal as its inhabitants took advantage of the semi-permanence of the location for their stay in Denerim. All around him his companions took inventory, prepared potions and poisons, polished armor. Aiden was near to hysterical with the abundance of wildlife this far to the north, far away from the main horde of darkspawn, and occasionally cries erupted around the campsite when he nearly bowled someone over in hot pursuit of squirrels and mice. So close to the major city, taking watch would be less stringent as well, and it was apparent in the casual clothing he saw everywhere he looked. Alistair frowned a little at that. They might at least want to wear leather, even if he couldn't blame them for losing the heavier stuff the moment they stopped for the day.

Meanwhile, Rhiann sat at the edge of things, scribbling in her journal and looking harried. Zevran chatted with her, or more accurately _at _her, earning an occasional smile even if she never looked up from her book.

He reached them just as the elf was finishing another of his famous anecdotes.

"I really was quite fortunate that she was of similar size to me. The guards would likely have noticed if the dress tore at the seams. However, I escaped, and her husband never did find out. And, I hear I make quite a pretty woman."

Rhiann shook her head. "It's a wonder you've lived as long as you have."

"You are not the first to tell me so."

Alistair sat down at her other side, more than ready to distract her from the assassin. "What are you doing?"

She glanced at him and ran a hand through her hair. "Trying to figure out what supplies we have, and how much we'll need for the journey back. We may have to find work here in Denerim." She rubbed her eyes with a huge sigh. "I just can't believe we have to turn around and go all the way back to where we started."

"Actually, if this Haven is in the mountains, it is _past_ where we started," Zevran said brightly.

Rhiann scowled at him. "Zev, didn't you say something about hunting with Leliana this evening?"

"Oho! Such subtlety wounds me through the heart. Cheer up, my beloved Warden. It only gives us time to get better acquainted, no?"

Rhiann pointed towards Leliana's tent. "Go."

Zevran only chuckled as he wandered away. Since he couldn't see her, Rhiann allowed herself an indulgent smile.

"Doesn't that _bother_ you?" Alistair asked, annoyed.

"What?"

"He flirts with you constantly."

"And – what? You're afraid he's going to wear me down and I'll just fall into his arms eventually?" she laughed at him. "He's harmless."

"Not the first words I'd use to describe a sex-driven _assassin_, but if you say so."

She only smiled at his disgruntlement and put her ledger away, turning to give him her full attention. "I wanted to talk to you anyway. I'm sorry things didn't work out with your sister today."

Alistair shrugged, but felt cold at the reminder. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"It must have been difficult for you." Her eyes looked distant for a moment, remembering. "I spent so much time taking my own family for granted, I don't think I realized how important this was to you."

He knew she was trying to help, but he was all for forgetting his confrontation with the Shrieking Shrew. After all, unhealthy repression had been well taught at the Chantry. It was one of the few things he was good at. Instead, he redirected her attention. "I doubt you took them for granted, Rhiann. You're too conscious of people."

Her eyes were sad. "No, I did. I remember when Oren was born, all I could think was that the Couslands finally had an heir and some of the pressure would be taken off of me to get married." She looked stricken and stopped to compose herself. "Poor little Oren."

In hindsight, he probably could have chosen a different topic to dissuade her with. "You're too hard on yourself. Very few noblewoman go off skipping merrily into a marriage with a stranger."

She laughed softly. "I suppose. And the irony is that it seems to have fallen to me after all. I'll never be a Cousland again, but I'd hate to see my family's name die."

His expression must have matched the wave of cold guilt that washed over him, because she looked startled. "What's so wrong?"

"Nothing." He heaved a sigh and ran a hand over his face. "_Everything_. Rhiann, there's something I need to tell you..."

-oOo-

It was as bad as he had feared. Worse, even. She stared at him with those impossibly blue eyes, and the look in them made his stomach roll.

After what seemed like an eternity, she whispered, "How long?"

"Thirty years, give or take."

She nodded, but distractedly, as if she weren't really listening to the answer, even though she had asked the question. Alistair had never seen her look so – _empty_. He wanted to comfort her, to shake her, to do anything to chase that awful numbness in her eyes.

"Rhiann, I'm sorry. Duncan never intended for you to find out this way."

The sharpness that entered her tone startled him. "Please don't talk to me about him right now."

"Duncan?" he was stunned. And more than a little confused. "You think this is somehow his fault?"

"Oh, no, of course not," she replied sarcastically.

Somehow it had never occurred to him that she hadn't regarded their leader the same way he did. As he thought about it, it dawned on him that the only time they spoken about Duncan at all was in relation to his feelings, never hers. "You don't feel like he tricked you, do you?"

"No," she snapped, and the hostility in her voice shocked him. "What he did was demand that I join if we wanted his help. He refused to aid us until he had my father's word that I would become a Warden. He held da's honor against him like a dagger at his throat, and then he left my mother to die, anyway."

Alistair's eyes narrowed dangerously. "He saved your life."

"Did he?" she laughed derisively, and the sound sent chills down his spine. Rhiann was looking at him strangely, as if she were seeing him for the first time. "How did he save my life? I don't even know what I _am_ now, except it has nothing to do with who I was before."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're the same person you've always been."

"You say that like what we are is _normal_. Like we don't feel the darkspawn or hear an archdemon. Like we have any chance at all to be anything other than _tainted._"

"Rhiann-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" her voice had dropped to something he didn't recognize and he winced at the sound.

"I...I should have."

"I trusted you," she said quietly. "I trusted you more than – _anyone_! How could you not tell me that you made me less than _human_?"

Alistair felt as if she had slapped him. "Hey, that's not fair. We told you there were sacrifices. We told you from the beginning there was no turning back. There are rules about how soon candidates learn these things..."

"Oh, get over it, Alistair!" her voice was loud enough that they were starting to draw looks from the rest of the party. "Look around – there's only two of us left and no one is riding to our rescue! Who is there to answer to? The only reason you kept it from me was out of some blind devotion to a dead man who manipulated people to his own ends."

"That's enough!" he snapped. He couldn't remember the last time someone had riled him this badly. He glared down at her, but she was glaring right back, her arms crossed stubbornly across her chest. Alistair forced himself to take a deep breath in attempt to calm down. It didn't help.

"Rhiann," he said deliberately evenly. "I know how you feel-"

"Do you?" She rose to her feet and her eyes were blue ice as she looked down at him. "Do you really? You were raised in the Chantry. Did you ever even consider the possibility of a family, of a _life_?"

It was too much, after the disastrous meeting with the only family he thought he had. She _knew_ that. He got to his feet as well, unwilling to let her lord over him like he was a misbehaving child. "Oh no, never," he said coldly. "What would family mean to someone like me?"

She didn't hear the irony, or seem to notice she was treading on dangerous ground. "I thought as much."

At the smug cruelty in her tone something snapped inside of him. Duncan was dead and Goldanna was a harridan and Rhiann was screeching at him like the past six months of her life were somehow his fault.

"Oh, I get it," he said with biting sarcasm. "Silly of me to try and understand the complexities of your suffering, simple as I am."

"You're the one who jumped up and down at the thought of being a Warden."

"After I had been _banished_ to the Chantry!" he was shouting as well, now. "After my life was decided for me! I had my choices taken from me the same as you, and with fewer allowances."

"What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?"

"Just how many rich, pretty lords were paraded in front of you, anyway? If you hadn't been so stubbornly set in your ways, you would have been married off a long time ago getting started on that _life_ you seem to feel so robbed of. You wouldn't have even _been_ at Highever when-"

He choked the words off, horrified at himself. Rhiann's eyes filled with bewildered pain, quickly replaced with a fury that made him take a step back.

"Don't you _ever_ talk to me about my family," she hissed, her voice so thick with rage she didn't sound like herself at all. "_Ever."_

_"_No – Rhiann, I'm sorry – I didn't mean-"

"I'm taking the first watch," she snapped, trying to push past him.

He caught her arm. "Rhiann, please..."

She jerked free of him, and shoved him back for good measure. "Stay _away _from me."

Rhiann stalked off into the trees, every hard movement of her body screaming at him not to try and follow.

-oOo-

Alistair way lying in front of his tent, one arm draped over his eyes and halfheartedly listening to Leliana lecture him. The bard had apparently decided it was time to get involved in this stalemate.

"This is getting silly. You were inseparable not two days ago. Have you even tried to talk to her?"

Only every moment she slipped up and found herself in his presence. "She won't speak to me."

"Well, maybe you didn't go about it right. The nobility can be awfully touchy. I know _you_ must know who she is, even if she forced me to drag it out of her. Her gentle breeding is obvious. If I could just get her out of those pants and into a pretty dress, I'd bet she could even pass for royalty. It's in her hands – those long fingers – and her speech is _very_ refined, when she's not slipping into nasty habits she's picked up-"

"Leliana," Alistair interrupted tiredly, not removing his arm.

"Hmm?"

"Find a new theme."

"Oh! Sorry." She was quiet for a moment. Alistair imagined she was studying the subject of their conversation across the camp, where she was sitting with Zevran. Again. He wondered if it would have bothered him nearly as much if the elf hadn't been so blatantly enjoying this new monopoly he seemed to have on her company.

"She's unhappy, you know," Leliana informed him quietly.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he said dryly.

"No, I mean she's unhappy not speaking to you. She misses you, I think."

That wasn't the impression he was getting, when she did everything in her power to avoid him. "Funny, I don't appear to have gone anywhere. Of course, she would have to wrestle her way past that assassin first. Not that she seems to be trying very hard."

Leliana punched him, hard, and he pulled his arm away from his eyes to rub his shoulder. "Ow! What was that for?"

She was glaring at him. "Because you're as thick headed as the rest of them. Are you really jealous of Zevran?"

Alistair thought of a hundred responses he probably should have used, playing up Leliana's insanity being the most obvious of them, but instead he only heard himself ask, "Should I be?"

She looked at him like he was completely hopeless. "Oh, Alistair. You are very sweet, but you really are a little stupid sometimes."

Oh _joy_, another woman calling him stupid. "Well, thanks for your help. You've been great. Good night now."

"You won't get rid of me so easily."

"You don't say."

She ignored him. "I'm not just telling you this just because I don't like to see my friends unhappy, you know. It's making everyone nervous, you two not speaking. Rather like children watching their parents fight."

He thought back to the last words he had hurdled at Rhiann. He wasn't really sure what point he was trying to make there. _Yeah, well, __**my**__ life sucks more than __**yours**_**. **

_Very_ mature.

"I think parents attempt to be less sulky and demeaning."

He still couldn't understand how things had escalated so quickly. Rhiann was patient nearly to a fault – the fact that Morrigan and Zevran were still around was proof of that. He wasn't known for his short temper, either. He couldn't even remember the last time he had been reduced to scathing insults. Well, with anyone but Morrigan, he amended. Andraste herself couldn't blame him for that.

Leliana looked thoughtful. "She's being childish."

Alistair tilted his head back so he could look up at the bard. "Apparently you didn't hear my closing argument."

"I didn't say you _weren_'_t _being childish, I was only pointing out that she was, too. It's not as if she was a quiet tower of dignity. She was trying to hurt you."

Alistair winced. "Just how much of that fight did you lot get to hear, anyway?"

Leliana waved that away. "You should talk to her."

"Leliana, she _won't speak to me_."

"Then you have to make her."

Alistair stared at her incredulously. "You really are crazy, aren't you?"

"She needs you," she continued, further ignoring him. "She has been put in a difficult position and without you, it's going to break her. Maybe she can't see it, but I can. Do what you have to do to make this right again."

"Right. I'll go up and demand that she forgive me for her own good. Then she stabs me in the eye. All better."

She sighed. "Honestly Alistair, you're sarcasm isn't going to make me go away, or drop the subject, or think any differently of you."

"I wasn't aware it was so ambitious."

"You want everyone to think you're spineless, but I'm onto you. You're every bit as stubborn as she is. You wouldn't be so infuriating otherwise."

-oOo-

Alistair's inability to refute Leliana's logic was keeping him awake. Somewhere along the line, Rhiann had become such a foolishly large part of his life that everything else going on around them seemed to pale in comparison to his concern that she might never speak to him again.

She wasn't acting like herself. There was an air of hopelessness about her that Alistair didn't like and didn't trust. It was beyond sulking. It was depressing. Wynne had told him that he was overreacting when he spoke to her about it – Rhiann had ventured into town that very day to look for a hire and even came back with one. She was still doing her job. Yet at the fire that night she was sad and despondent. He supposed he should be concerned, worried at whatever it was eating away at her. Yet as he saw her with Zevran, all could feel was angry. Rhiann – _his_ Rhiann - beautiful and strong and infuriatingly stubborn, was mired in self pity, and that _blasted _assassin was just _letting_ her get away with it.

Alistair told himself that he was giving up. It wasn't only up to him to fix things. Apparently she preferred the company of someone who would pat her on the back and tell her how unfair her life was over someone who pushed her to take the lead, someone who saw how special she was and knew that it was the only place worthy of her. So be it, then. He would follow, regardless of how ridiculous this entire situation had become. She had made it clear she didn't need him.

Actually, he was going to go and look for her and shake some sense into her if he had to, and quite possibly fall on his hands and knees and beg her to forgive him. It was simply a matter of curiosity now, wondering how long it took him to crack.

Sometime around midnight he gave up pretenses and got up. He had only gone to the edge of camp when he heard voices. He stopped, listening. Rhiann was _laughing_. Well, that had been slightly quicker than he expected, he supposed. Also a little … weird. Apparently Wynne was right, he was overreacting. The thought was less than encouraging. Still, he supposed his groveling could wait until morning.

Another voice joined hers, and Alistair froze in mid-turn. The voice was low, distinctly male, and distinctly _Antivan_.

This was getting out of hand.

He found them quickly enough, somewhat relieved to see Leliana was with them as well. She gave him a smile when he walked up, smugly satisfied about something. Rhiann was lying on the ground, her head pillowed in the bard's lap while she laughed at something Zevran had said.

She bestowed a brilliant smile on him. "Alistair! Oh wait – did we wake you?"

"No," he said uneasily. She was suddenly happy to see him now? Was _everyone_ going crazy but him? "Are you feeling alright?"

"Better than alright. I feel wonderful."

Oh. She was drunk.

Rhiann struggled to her feet, lurching slightly.

Correction – she was _very_ drunk.

This did not bode well.

Zevran jumped up and caught Rhiann before she fell over. Alistair balled his fists at his side to restrain himself from forcefully prying Zevran's hands off her waist. "Rhiann was feeling a bit, shall we say, adventurous this evening," Zevran grinned, and Alistair ground his teeth when Zevran's fingers started running along the small of her back. "I merely wanted to raise her spirits, is all." He helped Rhiann to sit down, where she immediately grabbed the wine bottle between them. "I _am_ sorry if we disturbed you. This midnight watch is rather dull."

"Since when do we set three for watches?" he asked, doing his best to sound like he wasn't thinking of _strangling _anyone.

"Zevran and I are on watch," Leliana said quickly. "Rhiann just decided to give us a bit of company."

Alistair sighed and knelt down in front of her. Maker – he may very well get drunk just from smell coming off of her. "Rhiann," he said quietly, nearly pleading. "This isn't you."

She laughed, but it was a hollow, unpleasant sound. "How would you know who I am? I don't."

"Well you're not going to find out at the bottom of a wine bottle," he said with some asperity, slipping it out of her grip and tossing it back to Zevran. Rhiann tried to stand up, but fell back before she had gotten more than a foot off the ground and landed on her backside. Her eyes glazed over. "Ooh – I don't feel so good."

"I did try to warn you about that last bottle," Zevran laughed, then leaned over and nuzzled her neck.

"Alrighty then, time for bed," Alistair said loudly and caught Rhiann's arm, shoving the elf aside. Zevran merely chuckled and did not protest when Alistair pulled Rhiann to her feet and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

"I don't want to go to bed," Rhiann mumbled, but she didn't fight him.

"Say good night, love," Alistair answered and started back to camp. Zevran and Leliana were both laughing as he left.

"Alistair," Rhiann whined. "Put me down."

"Doesn't seem likely, does it?"

"You're being very hi – height..."

"High handed?" he supplied dryly.

"Yes. That. High hands. _Bossy_. Stop telling me what to do."

"I'm not _telling _you to do anything. Though I would like to request that you _not_ vomit on me."

He ducked into her tent and set her down, sighing again when she stumbled and fell onto her bedroll. "Really, Rhiann, all things in moderation and all that." He knelt down and started unlacing her boots.

"Why did you come?" she mumbled, barely conscious.

He had been through enough in the past few days that the words stung more than they should have. "I was worried about you."

"I'm _fine_."

He frowned. "Clearly."

She didn't answer. This woman was going to kill him. He was suddenly very sure of it. "Let's just say I didn't want you doing anything you regretted later."

"Nope. No regret. Regret hurts." She looked up at him, her lovely eyes clouded and bloodshot. "I made a promise – never going to regret anything ever again."

"Yes, well – we'll discuss _that_ when you're hungover," he muttered. Her boots off, she curled up onto the bedroll like a child.

"It's dark."

"Which I hear is conductive to sleep. You may want to try it out."

"No, it's always dark. Everything. All the time." At least that's what it sounded like. She had gone well past coherency. Alistair tossed a blanket over her and debated how safe it was to leave her alone. He determined she wasn't in any danger, and was not keen to be seen coming out of their extremely drunken leader's tent in the morning.

He had a difficult night of it. Rhiann stumbled out of her tent sometime in the middle of the night to lose the contents of her stomach at the edge of camp, muttering between heaves that she hated Zevran.

Which hadn't been bad, really.

Alistair also slept too lightly, lying outside on his bedroll to listen for her and make doubly sure that Zevran stayed in his own damn tent where he belonged. No matter what Rhiann thought of the elf, he found it very difficult to believe someone who had made his interest known to all and sundry would not try to take advantage of the situation.

He was feeling quite indisposed towards everyone the next morning, irritated with bards and assassins and _Wardens _alike and grumpy from lack of sleep. The emotional upheaval of the past days left him raw and confused, and it was with a feeling of vengeful glee that he volunteered to wake up the cause behind it all.

He pulled the opening of her tent back as far as it would go to let as much sunlight in as possible and called, "Up we go, fearless leader."

Rhiann groaned in reply.

"Come on, then – everyone is waiting on you."

"Go _away,_" her voice croaked from somewhere in the pile of blankets.

"We have an important meeting in Denerim today, in case you had forgotten. Which I'm sure you did, seeing as last night you couldn't remember your own name."

"I'm not going."

He was beginning to lose his patience. "You _are_. The Mage's Collective will only deal with you."

"I don't care. Leave me alone."

The petulance in that reply was more than he could stand. Leliana was right – he had allowed this to go on long enough. "Enough, Rhiann. We have work to do."

"I said _GET OUT_."

_Not blasted likely_. Alistair stepped inside and hauled her up, ignoring her cries of protest as he picked her up fully. He held onto her just tight enough to keep her from squirming free, something that became much easier when he carried her out into broad daylight. She moaned again and tried to hide her face from the brightness. He ignored the wide-eyed looks of the others as he made for the stream at the edge of camp and tossed Rhiann in fully clothed.

She came up coughing and sputtering, managing nothing more than unintelligible squeaks in her anger.

"Oh good – you're awake."

"You – _you-_"

"Though not as sharp as usual."

She swung her arm, sending a cascade of water his way that he easily side-stepped. Aware of their audience, he leaned in and lowered his voice. "Pull yourself together already. You can continue to loathe me if you like, but those people back there need you. And I won't stand by and watch you _ruin_ yourself by wallowing in self pity. You're _better_ than this."

She didn't answer, only glared at him with the one eye that wasn't concealed by a curtain of black hair. He stood up, brushing the dirt from his knee. "I'll be back in a bit to make sure you didn't drown. I'm sure you can think of something bad enough to call me by then."

The others were staring at him when he turned around. Leliana was grinning to herself and Wynne chuckled in approval.

"That was a little rude and uncalled for, no?" Zevran asked dryly.

Alistair stalked right past him. "Rude, anyway," he muttered.

-oOo-

Rhiann didn't speak to him all that day, either, but he took some comfort in the fact she barely spoke to anyone. Likely she had a splitting headache, even though Wynne had taken pity on her and forced her to choke down some foul smelling concoction that was supposed to help.

At least she wasn't glaring daggers at him anymore. He supposed that was something.

Alistair's mood had dissolved into a depression by the time they made it back to camp that evening. Without a word to anyone he hid away in his tent, not particularly eager to spend another night watching Rhiann ignore him. He set about sharpening his sword for want of anything better to do. The normal sounds of the camp floated in from outside, Wynne laughing as Zevran got into an argument with the dog, Leliana calling playfully to both of them. For the first time since they had begun their journey, the noise grated. He didn't _like_ being alone, had lived the life of solitude to last him for the rest of his … well, life.

This wasn't completely his fault, after all. Rhiann had been just as nasty as he had. Why couldn't she just get _over_ it already? Why did she have to be so difficult?

"Alistair?"

He nearly sliced his finger open. Rhiann crawled in without invitation, perhaps unsure if one was forthcoming. "I'm sorry. I called but you didn't answer."

"The next time we're in town, I'm buying a little bell to hang around your neck. See if I don't."

She chewed at her bottom lip, determined to stare at her knees, which were pulled up in front of her. "Can I talk to you?"

"Oh, are you doing that again, then?"

She flinched, almost imperceptibly, but it was more than enough. What was wrong with him? Here she was, speaking to him at last, and he was going to waste the opportunity by doing what – salvaging his pride? Since when had he had any of _that_?"

"Rhiann, I'm so sorry," he blurted, unable to keep back the flow of words. "I have no idea why I got so angry with you. I should never have said – any of it, really. And you were right, I should have told you from the beginning. I used the rules as a crutch because I couldn't stand the thought of hurting you -"

She leaned forward and put a finger on his lips to stem the tide. "Alistair," she said softly, "Please – don't apologize to me anymore. You've been trying to for days, and it's my own fault I wasn't ready to listen." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Besides, you didn't say anything worse to me than I said to you."

"That's open for debate."

She smiled weakly. "I think I'm done debating with you for the time being." She looked at him and Alistair was astonished to see her eyes were glistening. "I'm sorry. You've been nothing but wonderful to me and the moment you say something I don't like, I turn into an utter bitch."

"Rhiann...come on. You don't really think this was all your fault, do you? We got into a fight – it happens."

She frowned to herself, thinking something through. "I think – I think we need to be more careful if this happens again. Split up if we have to, and get some distance."

Split up? Whatever was she going on about now? She defused all the other inevitable altercations that happened amidst their dysfunctional little family. She even dragged him along to split up situations that rose around Wynne and Morrigan, keeping him nearby in case the spells started flying. She wasn't willing to do as much when she was angry?

Rhiann must have noticed his hesitation, because she said quickly, "It's not that I don't want to be near you. It's just that it's hard to sort out anything when you're close by. Couldn't you feel it?"

All the confusion he had felt over the past few days came flooding back in his mind and he felt like an utter _ass_ for not figuring it out sooner. "The taint. _That's_ why I got so angry so quickly."

"We can't very well resolve anything when our feelings are all jumbled together and messing us up."

He looked down and saw her hand resting on her lap. Very hesitantly he reached over, sliding his fingers over hers. She didn't pull away. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?" he asked quietly.

She worried at her lip again. "Partially. I've been so mixed up. It took that surge of irritation you had with me this morning to realize that it wasn't just me."

He winced, but playfully. "Oh yeah, the stream thing. Sorry about that."

The smile spread slowly at first, but she began laughing. "No you're not."

Grinning, he pulled her forward into a hug. "I have a better idea. You just can't get mad at me anymore, even if I do or say something painfully stupid." Her hair smelled like fresh water and lilacs from the soap she used – a pleasantly subtle scent that he always associated with her.

"I've got an even _better_ idea. You just need to learn that I'm always right."

He laughed, a muttered chuckle beneath his breath. "You're the most stubborn woman alive."

She looked up at him, her eyes snapping with humor. "And here I thought you liked that about me."

He couldn't help himself anymore, was quite sure it wouldn't have mattered if the Maker himself had appeared and ordered him to _stop right there_. He bent his head and kissed her. It was very light, barely more than a brushing of his lips on hers to gauge her reaction. He was slightly amazed when her response was to lean into him, closing the distance.

It became apparent to him very quickly that Rhiann was far more experienced at this than he was, but before he could decide if that bothered him or not, she was pressing nearer to him, parting her lips to give him a fuller taste of her, and every other thought he had fled. The entire world had been reduced to _her_, her scent and feel and the way her tongue danced across his, coaxing him. One hand slid up into her hair, the other went about her waist to pull her impossibly _closer, _until she was practically climbing on him, raised up to her knees while her arms slid around his neck.

"Excuse me, Wardens." Zevran stuck his head in and Alistair broke away from her so fast it made him a little dizzy. "Everyone is alive in here, yes? No blood or tears or other fluids to be concerned with? Ahhh..." he smiled as he realized he had interrupted. "No _bad_ fluids then. The others will be happy to hear it."

"OUT!" Rhiann ordered, making the assassin laugh.

"It's quite alright, Wynne!" he called over his shoulder cheerfully as he backed away. "They have not killed each other as of yet."

Rhiann smoothed her hair back – his fingers had done quite a job mussing it – and gave him a sheepish smile. "Maybe we'll be safer out there with the others."

Well, so much for _that_.


	8. Chapter 8

The autumn days were known to come suddenly and heavily in the northern lands, and it seemed to Rhiann that she fell asleep one night in the lingering clutches of summer only to awaken to a world covered in frost. Generally she loved the fall, but her life was far removed from what "generally" had once been. The weather was going to worsen soon and slow them, as well as make the necessary trek through the mountains that much more difficult.

One crisp, cold morning she found herself lying in her tent with her eyes closed, remembering the previous winter. She recalled the feel of being sheltered by stone walls instead of drafty canvas, and her mind tangled with reminiscences of warm beds and hot meals and the view of the dark winter sea from the high tower. Highever faced some of the harshest winters in the kingdom, and the family would gather in the dining area for the warmth from the cooking fires once the snows were high. Aiden would inevitably grow bored of being shut up and spend his energy annoying Nan until Rhiann was forced to intervene. Fergus would laugh at the sight of his little sister scolding the enormous war hound like an errant child.

She drifted in and out of sleep as her thoughts slid between recollection and the Fade. Oren was laughing as Aiden bounded through the snow drifts in the yard and Ser Gilmore came outside to join them, bringing her winter cloak with a gentle scolding for the lack. Then he was teasing her about her interest finally being captured and held by _someone_ and Rhiann realized he meant Alistair, and she wondered how he could have known that when...

Quite suddenly she was fully awake, rubbing her eyes and trying to rid herself of the dream. She scolded herself for trying to pretend. Getting lost in what had been would only cloud her vision of what needed to be. Still, there was a heavy weight in her chest where practicality didn't quite penetrate, and she decided she needed to be away from her own thoughts.

The normal sounds of the morning camp warned her that she had slept later than usual. Aiden would come bursting in at any moment. He had taken it upon himself to decide when his master was oversleeping and took care of it by tackling her in her sleep. She really did need to get through to him that he was no puppy anymore.

She sat up and stretched, and a splash of color at the foot of her bedroll caught her notice. She reached down and picked up a small bundle of wildflowers. _Alistair_. Despite the melancholy she had woken with she felt a slow smile reach her lips.

Truly, life _now_ had its own perks.

-oOo-

Their stay in Denerim was lasting much longer than she had intended. Soon they would be forced to move on whether they had the things they needed or not. The city had proven lucrative to someone willing to sell out their sword, and Rhiann took every job they could find, hording each earned coin like a miser. After repairs and purchases, however, the pile of gold looked inadequate indeed, and she wondered perhaps for the hundredth time how they were going to manage the long journey ahead of them.

Whether it was a divine test of character or a simple stroke of luck that she met Slim Couldry that day, she never knew, but she took the job regardless.

-oOo-

"Just what are you three plotting over here?"

Rhiann cringed at the sound of Alistair's voice. She had been hoping that she, Zevran, and Leliana could manage this alone. Though he was comfortable to walk greyer paths than most people, she was certain that this would be pushing Alistair's sense of honor just a little too far. Better, she decided, not to make him choose.

Zevran did not seem to have such qualms. "Crime," he answered lightly, seeing the other two did not seem likely to speak up any time soon.

Alistair raised his eyebrows. "Crime," he repeated slowly, as if he were unsure if Zevran were serious or not.

"Yes, and it is a most fortuitous event that your Rhiann has such a sterling reputation among the higher class of villainy. A job like this would not likely be known in the sleazy underground I have been questioning of late."

Alistair looked to Rhiann, blinking. "Translation?"

She hastily began rolling up the map of Denerim so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. "I was able to secure another job in town today. After this we should be able to leave Denerim."

He crossed his arms, clearly amused by her reluctance. "And this job is?"

Rhiann looked to Leliana for help, hoping her gift for chatter could prove useful, but the bard was suddenly very busy digging the dirt out of her fingernails. With a sigh Rhiann got to her feet and faced Alistair. "Word has it that Arl Howe is dipping into city funds. He's having a shipment of silver transported to Highever tonight."

He stared at her for a moment as the words sunk in. When they did, he opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. This happened several times before he turned in a slow circle, running his hands through his hair.

"Let me get this straight," he said at last. "You intend to break into the property of a high standing noble and _steal _from him?"

Rhiann stiffened a little at that. "I intend to break into the property of a filthy backstabbing murderer … and steal from him," she conceded the last bit after some thought.

"Well, let's not forget that distinction," he said weakly. "Still, our opinion of him means very little as long as Loghain is still regent. The majority of Denerim already has us pegged as traitors. This could get dangerous."

"But you forget, my friend, _la belleza _has already achieved quite a reputation here," Zevran argued. "There are a good number of people with influence that would look the other way for her, no? All we must do is ensure we do not get seen, and later, Howe will be left with nothing but frustration when no one knows anything."

Alistair sighed. "It's not the law that I'm concerned with, so much. That warehouse is going to be heavily guarded. Howe may be a leprous swine, but that doesn't make him a fool, and his men are mostly ex-criminals. Sergeant Kylon already warned us they were a bloodthirsty lot."

"I'll be careful," Rhiann assured him. "I'm not going alone."

He looked hesitant before asking, "Any particular reason you didn't include me in this little excursion?"

"I didn't want to ask you to do anything you were uncomfortable with." She pitched her voice so that the others would have to strain to hear. "I know how thinly I'm splitting the hair of what qualifies as necessity here."

"I disagree," Zevran interrupted with a grin. "It is _absolutely_ necessary we take possession of this stolen silver from Arl Howe. It allows us to buy lovely, shiny things … and stab him with them."

Alistair crossed his arms and looked down, idly kicking at a pebble with the toe of his boot as he thought something through. "I'm going with you."

Rhiann was not inclined to argue. She had never been further than a hundred paces from him since they met, and he would prove invaluable if they ended up fighting their way out of the place. "Are you sure?"

"I go where you go," he said with a shrug, then glanced at her choice of companions. An idea seemed to occur to him, and he looked slightly uncomfortable. "This plan didn't involve a great deal of stealth, did it?"

-oOo-

The warehouse was located away from the busier streets of Denerim, in a shadowed alley of the city few would venture to. The temperature had dropped with the sun, and the cold was unpleasant enough that the streets would be clear of idle residents. Rhiann and her party made their way through Denerim unhindered.

Zevran gave them a signal to wait some paces away when the warehouse came into view, then ducked into the shadows, seeming to blend completely with the blackness of the night.

Alistair shifted impatiently as they waited, pulling his cloak more securely around him. This entire approach had to have been distasteful to him, but he hadn't complained once, even following Zevran's order that he kept the hood of his cloak up and his head down as they passed through town. The others had followed in the shadows, successfully avoiding notice from distracted passerbys.

Rhiann saw Zevran appear once again on the rooftop, signaling at her to come to the front of the building before he stepped back into darkness. Rhiann was not interested in the assassin in the way that he wished her to be, but she could appreciate the grace and purpose with which he moved, his every muscle disciplined in the ways of stealth. He was almost beautiful to watch at times, and whether she admired or envied his talent for disappearing was still debatable in her mind. With a glance at the other two she indicated with a light jerk of her head for them to follow.

As they came closer to the entrance Leliana cocked her head to the side, listening. "Many voices," she said softly.

Rhiann only nodded. She hadn't expected otherwise.

Zevran suddenly dropped down between them from his perch on the roof, making Alistair jump nearly a foot in the air. "Andraste's blood, don't _do _that!" he hissed after he had collected himself.

Zevran smiled, but it was hard and sharp. "My apologies. I did not realize you were so jumpy."

"Shh!" Rhiann and Leliana warned in unison.

They continued to stare at each other, and Rhiann growled softly at whatever form of male contention had sprung up between the two recently. "Well?" she demanded of Zevran. She didn't have time for these things.

"I could not get a proper headcount, I am afraid," he answered, breaking his gaze and giving her his attention. "But there are quite a few – a dozen, perhaps? This is the only entrance I could see, and it is guarded. All the windows have been boarded."

"Howe's men?"

Zevran shook his head. "His men are among them, but there are others, not so well armed."

"Hired thugs," Alistair concluded with a sour twist to his mouth.

"That would be my guess. But at least two of the sworn men bear the crest of the Arl. They seem to be overseeing the transfer."

"Do we have any chance of doing this quietly?" Leliana asked.

Zevran considered, then shook his head. "Very little. It seems our fat thief knew of what he spoke. We will have to fight before the night is through." As they considered this, he cleared his throat delicately. "If I might make a suggestion? We may wish to wait for them to move their pilfered goods. We can meet them outside, in a position and location of our choosing."

Leliana was shaking her head with a small frown. "Once they are on the road, they will be ready for thieves. We are only increasing our risk that way."

"Within the city walls, then. They will not be expecting it half as much."

"No, if we start a fight in the streets the guards will be there in no time. This warehouse is our best option. If we attempt to get into position through stealth first, we may gain the element of surprise."

"We also may just hand it to them, if they see us before we are ready. I am sorry, Leliana, but I don't think..."

"Zevran, I know what I'm talking about..."

Alistair sighed, rolled his eyes, and solved the problem for all of them by stepping back and kicking the door in.

"Or we could just do that," Zevran muttered dryly as the girls rushed past him to cover the Templar's back.

-oOo-

"Do you think anyone heard us?" Leliana asked, slinging her bow over her shoulder and hurrying to the door to watch the streets.

"Most assuredly." Zevran crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Alistair. "Some warning, if you please, the next time you decide to follow dangerous impulses."

"Hey, we're still alive, aren't we? That counts as a solid plan in my book."

Zevran muttered a string of words in his own language, and Alistair's eyes narrowed slightly. "I _am_ familiar with Antivan curses, you know."

"I had rather counted on it."

"Enough, both of you," Rhiann said wearily, walking over to kick open the crates. The silver lay gleaming in the torchlight, more than enough to keep them on the road for a while, at least. Alistair gave a low whistle at the sight.

"Yep, that ought to get us hanged, all right."

They had just finished loading the plunder when one of the guards groaned, fighting his way to consciousness. Zevran was on him in a flash, drawing his dagger from his belt to make a clean kill of it when Leliana grabbed his arm. "No! He's helpless. You can't kill him."

Rhiann didn't point out that they were leaving more than one corpse behind. She had long since accepted that Leliana had her own view on such things, and it wasn't really worth it to upset her. "Leave him," she told the elf. "He barely had a chance to see us, anyway."

Zevran rolled his eyes at such naivety, but did as she said and sheathed the weapon.

"Come on – let's go before-" the words stuck in Rhiann's throat as she cast a glance at the man who's life she had just spared.

She _knew_ him. His face – she recalled the way it had looked shrouded by smoke and dancing flames while her home burned around her. Her mind flooded with visions of panic and tears and blood, and for a moment she couldn't breathe.

"Come," Zevran was saying, wrapping light fingers around her elbow. "I have no desire for my description to be given to every guard in Denerim."

"Rhiann?" Alistair sounded worried. She wondered if she had gone pale. Her face was suddenly cold. The guard's eyes fluttered open as she stared at him, and in the space of seconds she saw the recognition there.

Without a word she grabbed the knife in Zevran's belt and plunged the blade through the prone man's heart. In the same smooth motion she yanked it out, and his blood gushed warm and sticky over her hands.

"Let's go," she said quietly, flipping the blade back to Zevran, who didn't so much as flinch as he caught it. "The guards will be here soon."

Ignoring the wide-eyed looks of the other two, she turned and walked to the exit. Silently, sliding sidelong glance at each other, they followed.

-oOo-

The Pearl was an establishment that Alistair could honestly say he never considered venturing into. That, as it turned out, had been one of the few good ideas that his brain produced from time to time. At the table he shared with Zevran and Leliana, he forced himself as far into the corner as was humanly possible, using Leliana as a shield against the sight of more exposed flesh than he had ever encountered in his life. Zevran flirted and charmed the women who periodically came to their table, not at all perturbed by their revealing clothing as he alternated between joking with them and whispering things that made them giggle loudly and caused Alistair's face to heat.

Which is precisely why Zevran kept doing it, he was sure.

He was fairly certain at this point that he _hated _that assassin.

So he pressed his shoulder against the wall and ducked further behind Leliana while she laughed at him. "Honestly, Alistair, they're not going to truss you up and have their way with you."

"At least not without seeing a great deal of coin first," Zevran said with a wink.

Alistair muttered something foul that only made the assassin chuckle, then determinedly turned his focus back to Rhiann. She was talking to a badly scarred fellow with brown stumps where teeth had once been who, she assured, would not care where the crates of silver came from. Alistair let his eyes wander over her slowly. She looked the same as always had. He wondered why he thought it would be otherwise. He had watched her kill before. Still, the whole incident was sitting _wrong _with him, and he wanted very much to get back to camp.

"You are worried about her, yes?" Leliana asked gently, following his gaze. He didn't see any reason to confirm or deny such an obvious statement.

"Did anyone else find that display of violence _incredibly _sexy?" Zevran asked, almost to himself. He looked to the other two, then shrugged off their withering glares. "Just me, then."

"What happened in there?" Leliana asked, pointedly ignoring Zevran. "I have never seen Rhiann behave that way before."

Alistair shrugged helplessly. "My guess is she recognized him." He looked at Zevran questioningly. "She's told you who she was?"

Zevran nodded, and Alistair felt a knot form in his stomach. Rhiann hated speaking about her past to anyone, except him. He didn't particularly like the idea of her sharing these things with Zevran, of all people. Something of his feelings must have shown on his face, because the elf smiled unpleasantly. "You did not believe yourself to be the only one privy to her thoughts, did you?"

"Really," Leliana said before Alistair could, and her tone was drier than he had ever heard it. "As I recall, you recognized the crest on the shield she keeps, and she confirmed your suppositions with a right hook."

Zevran scowled as Alistair doubled over with laughter. "Even so," he said loudly over the Warden's chuckles, "I only know as much as the rest of the kingdom. She refused to speak of it."

They both looked at Alistair expectantly.

"I don't really know what happened that night, either," he admitted, embarrassed. "Only what Duncan mentioned in the note he sent before her arrival."

"You don't know?" There was just enough condescending humor in Zevran's voice that Alistair very nearly punched him.

"I did _ask_ her about it," he snapped defensively. "A long time ago, just before her Joining."

"You haven't asked her about it since then?" Leliana asked incredulously.

He obviously wasn't strengthening his defense here. "Well, she acted...it seemed...private," he finished lamely.

"This from the man who spends an unconscionable amount of time with his tongue in her mouth," Zevran muttered, and Alistair was sure his face was in flames again. Leliana came to his rescue, hushing the elf with a well-aimed stomp on his unprotected foot. Zevran buckled over with a grunt, drawing the attention of several of the Pearl's employees. Alistair restrained the urge to laugh, but only barely. Zevran glowered at him, not fooled in the least.

"Alistair, this is something you should have brought up a long time ago," Leliana scolded him, and he unconsciously shifted his feet away from her. "After all the time Rhiann spends with you, you need to put forth a better effort to _know _her."

The bard was certainly developing an uncanny talent for making him feel guilty. "Alright, alright - I'll talk to her."

-oOo-

Zevran was confused. Having very rarely been victim to that particular emotion, he did not much care for it. Rhiann was a veritable fountain when it came to providing him, however.

Quite accustomed to the company of lovely women, Zevran reacted to Rhiann in the only way that made sense to him – he flirted with her. She seemed amused by his advances, even bantering with him with that admirable wit on occasion. Yet every evening she could be found in the company of the Templar. They would sit at the edge of camp with their heads bent together, talking and laughing, apparently at ease both with each other and the fact the others had begun to suspect their relationship had ventured past simple friendship. There was familiarity there, and an intimacy that Zevran did not recognize beyond the fact it was not sexual. As for him, she neither warned him away or encouraged him, but simply accepted him as he was and treated him with the same friendly care she showed Leliana.

Which was not exactly what he was aiming for.

Zevran knew how to respond to coy smiles and blushing cheeks. He even knew how to respond to threats and warnings to keep his distance. But this woman, with her ready smile and sultry laugh, had managed to confound him completely.

That evening as the camp settled into quiet routine, Zevran watched Rhiann and Alistair closely. As he had promised, the man cornered her as soon as he could and had apparently been successful. They had been talking for some time now, more seriously than was usual. At length they got up and went to the edge of camp, far away from the others. Rhiann drew her weapons, and Zevran realized Alistair had talked her into a sparring match, perhaps hoping she would vent some of her anger on him.

Zevran settled down more comfortably for the display. She was a pleasure to watch, his _belleza oscura_, his dark beauty. The fluid movements of her body bespoke grace and subtle strength, and with her matching blades in her hands she began a divine dance of death that was nearly hypnotic.

He watched them for some time, and realization drew a sigh from his lips. For all his juvenile sarcasm and blundering ways, Alistair was something to behold in combat. Even now in practice, Zevran saw the change in demeanor, the confidence that oozed from him when he had a sword in his hands. Every one of Rhiann's blinding attacks was met with the grating clash of metal on metal. She couldn't get near him, and as a thin sheen of perspiration formed on her lovely skin a small, admiring smile of appreciation appeared on her lips.

Perhaps it would be more prudent to his endeavors to discourage this from happening again.

"You will _never_ come between them, you know," Leliana said lightly as she joined him by the fire. Zevran scowled at her. He had come to very much enjoy the company of the beautiful archer, but at times her insight was less welcome.

"You underestimate my charms, I think," he answered teasingly, seeing no reason to deny his desire for the Warden.

"And you underestimate _his_."

He scowled again. Touché.

"I will admit, I respect his willingness to let our lovely leader vent her anger against him," he muttered grudgingly. "I would not be so eager to take the place of this Howe for her tirade."

"Her happiness means a great deal to him," Leliana responded softly.

Zevran was accustomed to Leliana spouting such romantic drivel. "That may be, but I am rather fond of _all _my parts. Perhaps you did not see her in the warehouse?"

She shifted uncomfortably at the memory. "It has not been so very long since Rhiann lost her family. The pain is still great, but she has too much sense to carry on a blood feud. She only needs time to heal."

"Indeed, once she has the Arl's head at her feet, I am _certain _the healing will be quick to follow," he said with an ironic flourish.

Leliana thought about that quietly for a moment, then shook her head as though concluding an internal argument. "No," she murmured, and flipped a strand of hair out of her eyes. "No, Alistair will be able to calm her down before this goes too far."

Zevran stared at her. Surely she was not this naïve. "Leliana, my sweet, the only thing Alistair intends to do about this situation is provide the head."

Leliana seemed to take offense to this. "That's not true!" she denied passionately. "You have not been with them as long as I have. They are both good people. They will not stoop to murder."

Zevran looked back to the subjects of their discussion. Their weapons lowered as they stepped back to circle each other, and suddenly Alistair ducked beneath Rhiann's defenses and grasped her wrist to pull her against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered something in her ear. Rhiann laughed, seemingly cured, for the time being, of her dark mood.

"I see," Zevran said with calculated understanding. "They are heroes in your eyes, come from one of your fantastic tales. The fact that they are obviously falling for each other has only strengthened this perception." He shook his head in mock sadness. "Ah, my Leliana, life very rarely lives up to the stories that spring from it."

Leliana's eyes narrowed and she stiffened in anger. "The Grey Wardens have always held a place of honor in history. I am not the only one who thinks so. They are our protectors..."

"They are killers," Zevran interrupted flatly. "_She_ is a killer. She will tear this Howe limb from limb as soon as the opportunity presents itself."

"You are just overly cynical," she said dismissively, apparently tired of his brutal observations.

Zevran conceded that. "Perhaps, but I am also honest. They Grey Wardens built their legends on the bodies of those that fell before them. They do not pride themselves on honor or mercy, but in doing whatever is necessary. Not that I am criticizing them, mind you," he added lightly. "They are indeed heroes, in their own way. But heroes, my beloved bard, are baptized in rivers of blood. You would do well to remember it."

-oOo-

"I met the teryn once."

Rhiann was nearly asleep. Most of the others had retired for the evening. She was curled up in front of Alistair, leaning back on his chest with his arms and cloak both wrapped securely around her. She bent her head to look up at him when he spoke. "You never told me that."

"It was years ago, just before I left Redcliffe. Arl Eamon often had important visitors, but I remember it clearly because having the teryn visit was a very big deal. The house was in an uproar over it, and Isolde was determined that everything should be perfect. Just before he arrived she pulled me aside and told me, in so many words, that I had best make myself scarce for the duration of the stay. Being the obedient sort that I was by then, we had words about it."

Rhiann frowned to herself. "That woman is a harpy."

He laughed softly. "Perhaps, but our relationship had degenerated into something far less then civil by then. Later in the day she caught me for some slight or another – I truly don't remember what I had done, but I'm sure it was done intentionally – and began screeching at me. She had worked herself into a full rage before she noticed that the teryn was within earshot."

Rhiann chuckled against him.

"I ran into him later in the yard. He slipped me a silver piece and told me to go to the market and make myself gloriously sick." He smiled softly at the memory. "He was a kind man, your father."

"He was," she said quietly.

His arms tightened around her, and he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry that you had to lose so much before I could find you."

She curled closer to him, sliding her arms around him. Every once in a while, he was the only one who knew the right thing to say.


	9. Chapter 9

The days became grey and cold, heavy clouds hanging on the horizon and shrouding the landscape in gauzy sunlight. The West Road had become passage only for those who were desperate – the darkspawn hoard moved across Ferelden's southern territories like a plague and left a swath of destruction behind them. Rhiann and her party moved on in grim silence, eyes hardening at the sight of burned farms and smoldering ruins. Refugees making a try for Denerim could be found on the road, pitiful bands of travelers who had narrowly escaped death with little more than the clothes they wore.

Morrigan and Alistair were at each other's throats again after only a few encounters with these groups, after Morrigan's cold insistence that there was _nothing_ to be done for them. They had no supplies to spare and no sanctuary to offer, walking as they were into the eye of the storm. Rhiann was quick to intervene when their exchanged words grew more heated, not only because Morrigan was right, but because Alistair _knew_ she was right. Her harsh lack of compassion had nothing to do with the logic of her argument, and more than anything else their utter helplessness was what truly angered him.

As they neared the village that had once been Lothering, the trickle of refugees seemed to stop all together, and they knew without saying that any who had been left behind this far into the conquered lands could not have survived. The night brought greater danger than before. Roaming bands of darkspawn seemed drawn to the taint in the Wardens like moths to a flame. They began stricter watch, making sure at least two were always patrolling the camp and _together. _Sleep was disturbed each night with yells of warning, but thankfully no one was seriously injured in all those times. Though Rhiann doubted anyone realized it but her, Morrigan had taken to maintaining magical shields around them at night, centered on Alistair and her.

Finally they had made their way past Redcliffe, and as they drew nearer to the mountains, the call of the taint that had begun to feel like a permanent pull faded from Rhiann's chest and the nightly attacks dwindled away. In the shadow of the mountains the temperature dropped even further, and one dark and windy afternoon the first flakes of snow began to dance around them, heralding the beginning of a whole new set of obstacles to come.

-oOo-

Rhiann had seen the challenge coming for some time now. Sten's generally impassive countenance had given away to glowering more often then not as the days passed. He was unhappy with the decision to continue on through the lands the darkspawn had overtaken and journey into the mountains to hunt for an obscure artifact of questionable existence. Rhiann was less than thrilled with the plan as well, but she had promised she would at least try, and until their clues dried up or the journey proved to be an elaborate back and forth trek across Ferelden she intended to continue the search.

When Sten stopped a day's journey outside of the obscure town of Haven and demanded to know why they were bothering with this foolishness, she knew she had no choice but to prove herself. It was with impressive calm, therefore, that she accepted his challenge.

She slid her pack off of her back and handed it to Alistair, along with her traveling cloak.

"I don't like this," he argued earnestly, keeping his voice low so Sten wouldn't hear him. "Just let him go. We'll make do without him."

"We need him. You know as well as I do that I have to do this." She gave him a crooked grin. "But by all means, feel free to intervene if he kills me."

"_Not _funny."

Drawing her blades, she turned towards the bronze giant, hoping that she was successful in hiding her trepidation as she eyed his enormous, muscular frame. She had witnessed his prowess in battle enough to know that speed would be her greatest ally in this fight, a tactic that was only reinforced in her mind when the first two-hand blow fell with amazing strength behind it. She managed to get away just in time, but the flat of the sword caught her shoulder as it arced up, and she felt it jar through her to the marrow in her bones. Sten apparently had no hesitation in cutting her down, and she stepped in with equal fervor, dodging and striking often as she knew she would not long be able to parry those massive swings.

Finally he was weary enough that his guard dropped only slightly, and Rhiann side stepped a downward swing and captured his blade in a cross-down of her own swords. Before he could recover she lifted a foot and kicked out over the lowered weapons. Her attack caught him in the face and sent him reeling. For a moment she knew real fear – he was getting back up and she was exhausted, but to her relief and amazement he only raised himself to his knees before embedding his sword in the muddy ground, his hands grasping the handle and his head lowered.

"I yield, _kadan_."

She was careful to keep her relief in check, calmly sheathing her weapons. "You'll follow under my orders?"

He looked up, questioning. "You would allow me to remain in your company?"

"I would say that's up to you."

He lowered his head again, this time in deference. "I will follow."

She felt a trickle of blood at her lip and wiped it away with the back of her hand, waving off Wynne's intervention even though her muscles screamed in protest. It wouldn't do to let him see how effectively he had weakened her. "Let's go then, we've wasted enough time."

As she trudged down the road trying to ignore each complaint of her body, she had to admit that her stubbornness amazed even her at times.

Much later, in the privacy of her tent with only Alistair in attendance as the snow whirled and deepened outside, she felt much more comfortable voicing her discomfort.

"OW!"

"Maker's breath, woman, it's only a sprain. Stop being such a baby," he laughed at her, searching around in his pack for something to bind her wrist. "You really should just let Wynne tend to this."

"Later. After Sten goes on watch. Hitting him was like trying to beat down a _rock_."

"I could have told you _that_ just by looking at him. Which are you trying to hide, the fact that he managed to hurt you or the fact that you're being a complete baby about it?"

She briefly wondered if it would be too childish to stick her tongue out at him.

"You know, I thought he'd be more sulky about you kicking his ass," he commented brightly as he wrapped a length of linen around her wrist. He had such careful hands. "He actually seems quite pleased about it."

"So do you."

Alistair grinned at her. "I can't say it's not a pleasure to be able to stand back and watch you fight - once the nail-biting and terror subside, that is. There's something intensely satisfying about knowing your girl can handle herself."

She laughed at that. "Is that what I am now?"

"You know what I meant," he murmured with a smile, and slipped a hand around the back of her neck to pull her forward. His kiss was slow and intoxicating, making her mind go pleasantly blank as she allowed herself to forget everything else and just _feel_. Unfortunately she leaned forward in her desire to get closer, bracing herself on the arm that had gotten clipped during her fight and a hot ache went through her back. She pulled away with a wince, her hand automatically going to her shoulder.

"Did we miss one?" he asked quietly, leaning in to glance over her shoulder and gently running his fingers along the neck of her shirt. It made her slightly dizzy.

"It's just a bruise," she answered shortly, irritated at the interruption.

"It's not a bruise, you're bleeding," he informed her, and his voice was business-like again.

_Damned wretched, stupid qunari_...

With a sigh she sat back and grasped the bottom of her shirt, but her arm wouldn't cooperate when she tried to lift it. "Help me get this off – oh for Maker's _sake_, Alistair, I'm wearing a chemise under it."

"Well, you can't expect me to _know_ that," he argued defensively, his face still brilliantly red, and moved to sit behind her.

She bit her tongue and refrained from telling him that her seduction methods hopefully didn't include injury and an unwilling partner.

Exceedingly careful not to disrupt the thin blouse underneath, he slid her shirt up over her back. Despite her previous thoughts she felt a shiver go up her spine at the touch that had nothing to do with the cold outside, and was thankful he didn't seem to notice.

"Someone as large as Sten should really find a more reasonable way to vent their frustration," he muttered, then saw the ugly purple patch marring her skin. A red tear snaked through the center where the skin had split under the force of the blow. "_Or_," he continued, struggling to keep his voice light, "I could just _kill_ him."

"That would kind of defeat the purpose of the fight, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe, but it would make _me_ feel better." He drew in a breath and Rhiann got the impression he was forcing himself to calm down. "You're going to have to go to Wynne with this."

"I don't _want_ to go to Wynne. Leave me a little bit of pride."

"And what do you _think _the others think is going on, with me closed up in here and you whimpering?" Rhiann began to giggle just as he caught the innuendo, and laughed harder at him when he dropped his head against her uninjured shoulder with a groan. "I really just said that, didn't I?"

"I must be distracting you."

"You do have that tendency," he whispered, and lightly pressed his lips against the back of her neck. Her breath caught, she felt him smile against her skin before he kissed her again, open mouthed, one hand sliding around her waist. Rhiann was sure he felt the shiver that time, and the smug smile he gave her as he got up confirmed it. "I'm going to fetch Wynne. Nope, don't want to hear it," he said more loudly when she tried to argue. "I have my reputation to think of, you know."

-oOo-

Six months ago, if someone had told Alistair that he would one day be forced to raise his sword against unarmed peasants he would have cheerfully informed them they were crazy. Of course, he also would have said it was crazy to _ever_ believe that Teryn Loghain was a traitor, that Alistair would be one of only two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden, and that he would one day be venturing into a village of zealots with an assassin and an apostate as _companions_ to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

Perhaps it was time to reassess his definition of the word.

Whatever qualified as crazy during a Blight, though, Haven seemed to have a firm grasp on it.

What kind of mania that possessed villagers to rush four well-armed travelers with nothing more than their fists and the occasional pitchfork? Yet Alistair had seen the bloodied alter and the corpse of Redcliffe's knight – these people were killers. His guilt was assuaged on that point at least, though he couldn't help but wince as Zevran threw a woman to the ground by her hair and calmly slit her throat.

"Interesting place, this Haven," the elf remarked dryly, his own distaste showing through for a split second as he wiped his dagger clean. "It is not often I am treated to such displays of unrestrained insanity."

Rhiann wiped her forehead with her sleeve, her dagger still in hand, and ignored the comment. "I only saw one mage."

"Indeed." Zevran gestured towards the beaten path that wound up the side of the mountain. Rhiann nodded in a response to some unasked question, and the elf knelt down to study the road.

"How many?" she asked after a few seconds.

"Twenty? Three, perhaps, that are truly worrisome."

Rhiann nodded again, thinking. "Go make sure."

Zevran got to his feet, sheathing his weapons, and crept to the side of the road, disappearing into the limited vegetation as thoroughly as if it were a solid wall concealing his movements.

Alistair glanced at Morrigan, but she seemed perfectly calm. Of course, she would pretend to know what was going on even if she didn't. Thankfully, he didn't have such arrangements with his pride. "Care to translate the thief talk?" he asked Rhiann with a bit more annoyance than he had intended.

Rhiann blinked at him. "The altar in that cottage would indicate the use of blood magic in the village. Since only one mage came to greet us, we have to assume there's a group of villagers elsewhere. It looks like some made their way up the path earlier, but according to Zevran, only three appear to be mages. I wanted to get a decent look at things before we rushed in. If there's blood magic at work here, you and Morrigan especially are going to have to know what you're walking into."

Oh. He had actually known all that. The smile Rhiann was giving him said that she knew it, too. He couldn't help it. He _despised_ the understanding that seemed to spring up between Rhiann and Zevran, the subtle way they could communicate with gestures and minimal words.

"Interesting," Morrigan said in a tone that told him immediately who her next comment was aimed at. "Before meeting you, I would have argued that ignorance was far more unattractive than jealousy."

"And I would have argued that the Chantry embellished the soulless nature of apostates," Alistair snapped. "The world is funny that way."

Rhiann only rolled her eyes and sighed.

Zevran appeared moments later, materializing from behind a tree. "They are indeed at the end of the path," he reported. "There appears to be some sort of religious gathering going on – lead by our missing blood mages."

"Oh good," Alistair said as Morrigan straightened, gripping her staff. "Let's go break it up for them."

-oOo-

The resounding roar shook the ground they stood on, and Rhiann crouched with her party behind an outcropping of rock as the enormous shadow passed overhead.

"Maker's breath, those lunatics were _serious_," Alistair exclaimed in a whisper.

The dragon settled some distance away, curling its wings around itself as it looked down over the mountain. Inadvertently, Rhiann ducked down further.

Alistair turned to her, eyes wide. "We're going to have to be careful with this one. A high dragon is nothing to take lightly."

Rhiann dared to peek her head out to survey the setting. "There are several empty structures ahead. We can use them as cover."

"You and Zevran could probably make it to them before she notices," he said. "That will give you both clear positions at her back."

Rhiann hesitated, chewing at her bottom lip. "True, but that would mean you luring her down yourself. Are you up for something like that?"

Alistair thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "If Morrigan can throw a couple of defenses on me first, I think I can handle it until you jump in. So long as you're not plotting an elaborate scheme to watch me get eaten."

"In all that armor? She's much more likely to impale you then eat you."

"True enough, I suppose. I don't much fancy the idea of swallowing a tin can myself."

So much for not taking it lightly.

"Might I interject?" Zevran asked, his voice slightly higher than usual as he looked back and forth between the two. "That is a _dragon_." When the others just looked at him, he glanced at them each in turn. "I am sorry, were you requiring further argument?"

"We _may_ be able to sneak by it," Morrigan said uncertainly. "But High Dragons are well known for their excellent senses."

"We also happened to be covered in the blood of its hatchlings," Alistair added. "She'll know we're coming. I'd much rather be prepared than have it catch us."

Rhiann silently agreed. She looked at Alistair and saw the same reckless excitement in his eyes that she felt. They exchanged a smile, and Zevran groaned at the sight.

"Come on Zev," Rhiann whispered encouragingly, "We can take this thing."

He sighed as if cursing the forces that had thought it funny to bring him here, but drew his daggers. "I would like to state that if we live through this, Leliana does not get to be 'the crazy one' anymore."

-oOo-

The dragon's tail lashed out. Rhiann ducked just in time, but Zevran was not so fortunate. It slammed into him, hurtling him into the ancient remains of a shed. The unstable structure collapsed down on him. Rhiann took only a second to make sure he was still moving. Seeing that he was, she took a deep breath and grasped her weapons. The dragon was weakening, its movements slowed. She ran along the side and threw herself onto its back, bringing both of her blades down and sinking them into its spine. With a roar the dragon tried to throw her off, then went into its death throes. Alistair dove out of the way and the massive body crashed to the ground.

With a boyish whoop he caught Rhiann as she tumbled off the dragon's back. He didn't put her down right away, just gave her an excited grin. "All in one piece then?"

Rhiann glanced over herself. "It appears so," she said in some amazement and laughed when he kissed her soundly.

"Honestly, you two do have a way of making a soul sorry they kept you alive," Morrigan grumbled as she limped towards them.

Maybe it was the high spirits he was in, but Alistair looked over Morrigan with some care as he set Rhiann down. "You looked drained."

"'Tis not easy, keeping someone healed who seems so intent on dying. You could be more subtle about your approach, rather than charging in like an angry bull."

Alistair only grinned at her. "What fun would come from that?" he asked and tossed the startled witch a lyrium potion.

"By all means, do not concern yourselves with me," Zevran called irritably, still trying to free himself of the debris.

Feeling a bit guilty, Rhiann ran over, tossing aside some of the larger scraps of wood until she found the buried Antivan. He seemed mostly unharmed, though a large knot was forming on his forehead. "I'm sorry, Zevran! Are you alright?"

"Oh yes, _fine_. My day is not complete until I have been swatted into a pile of rubble."

"I warned you to watch the tail."

He scowled at her. "How silly of me to forget."

Nearly bouncing with excitement, Alistair reached down and hauled the assassin to his feet. "We just _killed_ a _dragon,_" he said. "That's got to be worth a broken rib or two?"

"Or three or four," Zevran groaned, then sighed in relief when Morrigan's magic encompassed him, its soothing lavender glow hovering around him momentarily before disappearing. "My thanks, _bella_. I am afraid the excitement of downing an overly large lizard was doing very little to help my disposition."

Alistair shook his head in disgust. "You are no fun at _all_."

-oOo-

Alistair had been feeling rather pleased with himself after the first test of the temple. Rhiann had admitted, somewhat embarrassed, that she hadn't done very well in her Chantry studies and so it was left primarily to him to sort out the riddles posed. It wasn't often he was able to step forward and not end up feeling like a complete fool.

Whatever smugness he entertained disappeared almost immediately upon seeing the lone shade waiting behind the ancient doors. Even if Rhiann's breath hadn't caught in her throat at the sight, he would have recognized the teyrn. He looked at Rhiann worriedly, and she spared him a single glance, a desperate _please_ in her eyes before she stepped forward.

Alistair understood and remained a distance away, shooting a warning look at Zevran and Morrigan to do the same as Rhiann approached the specter of her father. They fell back without argument, both still reserved after the confrontation with the Guardian. This entire place was deeply unsettling, and Alistair had learned more than he wanted to about the group that accompanied them. Seeing Zevran torn between anger and grief at the Guardian's questions, almost like he was a _person_, had made it distinctly harder to hate him. He didn't need that kind of complication.

He watched Rhiann closely, waiting for any sign that he needed to intervene, but something in her stance told him that giving her privacy during this trial was the right thing to do. The spirit faded away, and Rhiann went still as a statue, her breathing labored. Now he went to her, hesitantly reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, shaken, but seemed in complete control of herself. "Yes."

He looked at her a moment longer, running the back of his fingers down her arm.

"I'm okay," she whispered in the face of his doubt, forcing a ghost of a smile.

"Of course she is," Zevran interrupted from behind Alistair, and he was looking straight at her. "It rekindles the flame, no? Your journey would become very cold without that familiar warmth."

Rhiann did not answer, but something Alistair didn't recognize flitted across her eyes. Satisfied, Zevran gave her a slow smile. "_Mi belleza oscura,_" he murmured softly, with all the intimacy of a lover.

Rhiann deliberately turned away from Zevran, turned back to Alistair, leaning her head against his shoulder as she took a steadying breath. He wrapped an arm around her, trying to ignore whatever had just passed between her and the elf. She stayed there only for a moment, before backing away with a determined shake of her head. "Let's go. Maker knows what they'll bring out next."

The moment was gone, but Alistair couldn't help but note that Rhiann seemed determined not to look at the assassin. Alistair hated to admit it, but there was some side of Rhiann that eluded him, some dark place that she kept hidden, even from him. Zevran seemed to have a dangerous grasp on understanding that place.

They continued on in silence, and Rhiann reached out and slid her hand into Alistair's, threading her fingers through his for comfort. It was unlike her, and he was startled to find she was shaking. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, suddenly feeling like a shallow and insecure idiot for the jealousy that hummed through his brain every time the Antivan opened his mouth.

She needed him. That was all that mattered.

-oOo-

"They can't be serious," Rhiann muttered after reading the plaque in the light of the wall of flame that guarded the ashes.

"Of course they are," Morrigan snorted. "What better way to protect the ashes against repressed Chantry fanatics?"

Rhiann shook her head and began to unlace her armor. "You can't honestly tell me that anyone who went through all that would be turned aside by a simple thing like nudity."

"Oh?" Morrigan asked with a chuckle. "I would check with your own repressed Chantry fanatic before making that assumption."

Maker, did she have to make certain that _everyone_ was staring at him? Alistair glowered at the witch, but she only smirked at his expression and released the knot that held together what little kept her covered, effectively ending _that_. His eyes flew to the floor.

"Ah, this is my kind of adventure, no?" Zevran chuckled, tossing his cloak to the floor.

"Come on, Alistair," Rhiann coaxed, and she was _laughing_. "How can you still be so reserved after the way we've been living for the past few months?"

Great. He was never going to sleep again, wondering what that was supposed to mean. Rhiann's fingers moved to unlace the tight chemise she wore beneath her shirt, and he stepped back a pace.

"No, really, you go on ahead," he stammered, positive that soon the flames weren't going to make much difference, anyway. He was going to burn on the spot. "This whole thing with the ashes is likely highly overrated. You can tell me about it when you get back."

"Right, I'm going to be the only one forced to strip down while you lot stand back and watch," she grinned at him, kicking off her boots. "Get a move on, Alistair - you're holding up the rest of the group."

He closed his eyes, fighting back the urge to let out a very unmanly whimper. He just needed to ignore his surroundings. Discipline. He was good at discipline. Ignore everything but the ashes. Ignore the way Morrigan's eyebrow quirked when he pulled his shirt off. Ignore the fact that the woman he had been dreaming about for weeks was shedding her clothes, perfectly at ease with her body, and he was forced to experience it with an audience.

He _definitely_ needed to ignore the way Zevran was looking at him.

The elf didn't even try to hide it as his gaze ran over Alistair's form with languid care, the corner of his mouth quirking into a sensual smile...

"You're doing that on purpose!" Alistair snarled.

"Zevran, stop molesting Alistair," Rhiann said dryly without even turning around.

Zevran laughed, but at least he looked away. "He should not make such a splendid target."

Rhiann glanced back at him, her eyes sparkling with humor. "That's sound advice, you know."

Alistair grumbled, but continued undressing. This was supposed to be a revered experience, not some smut-filled childhood fantasy. It was holy, this idea of leaving all the weight of the world behind. Holy, to rid yourself of earthly possessions and come forth just as you were. Holy – the way Rhiann's leggings rode low on her hips and revealed the curve of her back...

It was possible this line of thinking was only damaging his psyche further.

He kept his eyes straight ahead as they stepped through the flames. The Guardian appeared, the flames died, and Alistair was the first to yank his pants back on, much to the amusement of the others.


	10. Chapter 10

Alistair was, for perhaps the first time in his life, completely speechless. Arl Eamon wanted to make him king. Him. The guy who needed Wynne to patch up his socks for him, who relied on Rhiann to make sure he was taking the right road to Denerim. In which land of _crazy_ did that qualify him to run a _country_?

He had already voiced his objections, even though he felt he had always made his feelings on this subject perfectly clear.

So why were they still _talking_ about it?

"Your support my very well be essential in this endeavor," Arl Eamon was saying to Rhiann, quite deliberately ignoring Alistair's presence as he devised plans for his life. Alistair was on the verge of another outburst, if anything to point out that he was in fact _standing_ _right there_, but Rhiann surprised him into silence by shaking her head.

"I cannot give you my support," she said quietly, and wild hope rose within him. "Not until we've had time to think about this."

_Dammit_.

At least she had looked at him, anyway.

The Arl was growing impatient – Alistair was very familiar with the expression he now wore. "What support I may gather will grow weary of half answers quickly."

Rhiann's eyes narrowed, and Alistair half hoped she was about to do something insane and get him out of this mess. Half of the nation thought they were loony anyway – it wouldn't take much to push it over the edge.

He was frighteningly comfortable with the idea.

Yet her voice stayed calm, though there was a definite coolness to it. "I understand your position, Arl Eamon, but I also grow weary – weary of the nobility determining that their wishes are the best ones for all of Ferelden, and using that banner as justification to do whatever they like."

Arl Eamon looked startled at the bold statement, but he recovered himself quickly. "You are very familiar with the ways of this nation's rulers, madam. What alternative would you offer?"

"My responsibility is to the ending of this Blight, as is Alistair's. It's not my place to offer an alternative. I agree that the country must be united, but I will not blindly offer my support without first considering our options."

Eamon stroked his beard, perhaps trying to find a chink in her armor. Alistair would have liked to tell him he was wasting his time – he had yet to figure out how to budge her once her feet were planted, and since coming to Redcliffe, it was plain that Rhiann was in her element with this political nonsense. He remained silent, grinning to himself a little, curious as to what move the Arl would make next in this verbal combat.

"I'm sure you are familiar with the weight your name carries with it."

Alistair winced. That was the _wrong_ one.

Rhiann's voice was ice now, though her civility didn't waver. "I am more than aware, Arl, as I'm sure that _you_ are aware that I have no surname as a Grey Warden. _And _that the Couslands have never put as much importance on bloodlines as the character of the person who carries them. The wisdom of that thinking has been proven to me often in these past months."

Was it wishful thinking on his part, or did she look at Isolde when she said that?

Eamon seemed to be considering, but bringing up her family had been a misstep on his part, reminding him – reminding all of them, really – that Rhiann had never been, and now as a Warden never would be, answerable to him.

He bowed his head. "Very well. I hope that you will consider my proposal?"

"I will," she answered, and the ice in her voice melted. "I'm afraid we still have quite a bit of work ahead of us before we can act on any of this."

"So you do. Gather your armies, Warden. I will call the Landsmeet then."

Rhiann bowed to the Arl and his lady before taking her leave, though Alistair could tell by the set of her shoulders she was still annoyed. Apparently she didn't like the idea of tossing him on the throne any more than he did.

Alistair turned to the Arl, but any words that he may have uttered caught in his throat. Now that he was alone with him, alone with the reality that this man who had raised him was using him as a political ace, he could think of nothing conciliatory to say. Alistair wanted to tell himself that Eamon's heart was in the right place, that he honestly felt that he was doing what was best for Ferelden, but accusations whirled around in his head as he watched the couple on the dais talking in low voices, and he swallowed them back, feeling them claw through his chest and settle heavily in his stomach.

_You were supposed to help, not throw in another twist in the road, _he thought bitterly_. I dragged her along all this way, telling her - promising her - that you could make this better._

He didn't say any of it, though. Instead he bowed to the couple with a muttered excuse, and turned to follow the one person who had ever bothered to care what he wanted.

-oOo-

Rhiann decided not to bring up the meeting at Redcliffe for the next few days, sensing that it would only start an argument, and she was too aware of just how sharp Alistair's tongue could become when he was pushed too far. She still fully intended to force him to at least consider Eamon's solution, but it could wait until he had cooled down a bit.

Instead she concentrated on once again battling winter winds as they made their way to Orzammar. A decent road tracked its way through the mountains towards the dwarven city, making their passing far less treacherous than the trail that lead to the Urn, but still the journey was difficult at this time of year. The snow fell until Rhiann, tall as she was, was knee-deep in the icy blanket. The sigh of relief from her companions was not quite lost on the wind when the enormous gates to the city appeared in the distance.

Orzammar was a fascinating place, the light tinged with a faint red glow from the streams of molten rock. The craftsmanship of the dwarves was boasted in every detail, from the towering monuments of the Paragons to the grace of the stone carved around the entrance to the Assembly Hall. The entire city smelled like heat and earth, and she would have been overwhelmed with curiosity, except like everything else these days the visit wasn't going as it was _supposed_ to. Within a very short time they had been wrangled into dwarven politics, the contention for the throne tossed in as a defense for not honoring their ancient agreement with the Grey Wardens.

"Don't these people understand how a treaty _works_?" she demanded of Alistair the next day as they battled Jarvia's compound. Assaulted, more like, with the mood that Rhiann had steadily worked herself into. "It's very simple. _You_ owe us men. _We_ come and collect the men. There's no '_could you please'_ or '_first would you'_ about it!"

"I know," Alistair said wearily, and grabbed a dwarf that materialized from no where behind her. He shoved him towards Zevran, who slit his throat before the thief could collect himself. Rhiann didn't even seem to notice.

"As if we haven't got enough to do with a _Blight_ going on. By all means, let's forget about _that_ and fight in your little tournaments so you can _prove something._"

"Rhiann," he said cautiously, "I know how you feel, but don't you think this little rant may be alerting potential bad guys to our presence?"

She snorted at that. "We had more trouble with the thugs out in the streets. Zevran could probably clean out this compound all by himself."

A muttered chuckle behind him told Alistair that Zevran agreed with that assessment. "All the same, you should probably be paying better attention..."

Rhiann threw her arm out in front of him, blocking his path. With a grumble she stomped down on a bit of metal he hadn't noticed. A lethal looking claw trap snapped shut with a resounding clang right where he had been about to step.

"Right," he said weakly as she stormed on without so much as a pause. "Rant away, then."

-oOo-

They spent several days in Orzammar, running numerous errands for Lord Harrowmont while he prepared to make his bid for the crown. Despite her grumbling Rhiann found herself enjoying the city, particularly having a bed to sleep in again. She even agreed to carry a message for one young dwarf, which most assuredly fell into the list of things she couldn't understand people asking of her. But Dagna was so earnest in her desire to journey to the Circle. Besides, Rhiann knew that her part in saving the Circle Tower almost assured the dwarf a place there if she delivered the request personally, and so she hadn't had the heart to tell her no, even when Alistair laughed at her later for it.

But then came the Deep Roads.

Zevran had taken one glance into the gaping maw of a cave that led to the lost thaigs and gone white as a ghost. Unnerved as she was, Rhiann didn't have the heart to force the elf, so accustomed to open sky and sunshine, to go with her. Instead she chose Wynne and the strange Oghren, who undoubtedly would have followed along even if she had refused him, determined to find his wife. Or at least he seemed to be, between taking swigs from several bottles in his pack.

"Well," Alistair said with forced cheer as they approached the cavern. "You already have a bard who sees visions and an assassin with a hormonal imbalance – I suppose a drunken dwarf completes the set, somehow."

She gave him a tremulous smile, and then braced herself as she stepped into darkness.

-oOo-

It was as if all of her nightmares had collapsed into one and solidified to create this horrible place. The air was stagnant and smelled strongly of sulfur. The ceiling was lost in a maze of shadows, miles upon miles of solid rock that unnerved her in a way nothing else had. Blackness lay thick as a blanket over everything, a darkness so profound it seemed another entity, observing their every step and emitting strange noises that echoed from above and around them, the smallest sounds amplified into distorted whispers.

And she could feel _them_.

They were everywhere, around every rock and crevice. The taint in her blood twisted into song, pulling her mind in every direction as the darkspawn seemed to materialize from the living darkness. This was the shadow that coursed in her veins, the dark promise that Duncan had offered her in a chalice. She had accepted and drank and changed, and now it was a part of her. The song whispered the truth of it into her mind as they traveled deeper and deeper into the earth.

Rhiann drove her party on mercilessly, even when her body complained that they had been walking for hours upon hours – there was simply no way to tell how long in this sunless world. She only knew she was closer to panic then she had ever been in her life and she did _not_ want to sleep down here. Her friends seemed to agree, even the dwarf on edge with death creeping around every corner. Soon everyone but Oghren was stumbling with exhaustion, and with no end in sight they had no choice but to call a halt.

She curled in a ball on her pallet and pulled the blanket over her head like she had as a child, hiding from nightmares. There was no comfort to be offered now, for the strange noises in the dark likely _were _monsters and there would be no first rays of dawn to chase the shadows away. She squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the relentless pounding of her own heart thrumming through her ears.

She jumped and nearly screamed when she felt the light touch on her shoulder, but it was Alistair, sliding beneath the blanket. "It's okay – it's only me." He curled himself around her, his strong arm slipping around her waist to hold her closely. "I'm here."

She nearly broke down then and rolled over so she could bury her head in his chest while he idly stroked her hair. Her heartbeat dropped down closer to normal a normal rhythm, and she was able to concentrate on familiar sounds like Wynne's soft breathing and the footsteps of someone patrolling the area – Oghren had volunteered to keep watch.

"Are you okay?" Alistair asked quietly.

Rhiann wanted to tell him yes, wanted to feel silly for the whole thing and laugh it off, but the terror had only receded to the edges of her mind and she thought if there was ever going to be a time to lose her control, it was going to be here. She didn't want to worry him, though, so she didn't answer. "Are you?" she asked instead.

She glanced up into his eyes and saw the fear he had tried to bury there. Alistair felt the calling as strongly as she in this forsaken place, had heard the same song that seemed to flow through her blood and bone. He had managed to keep his calm for her sake only, probably worrying his own fear would compound hers further.

And there, in the heart of the earth, a jolt went through her that was nearly as terrifying as she realized that she loved him.

-oOo-

They were two days outside of Orzammar, going on a detour to the Circle Tower for Danga's request when the storm hit. They were far enough out of the mountains that the snow had given way to rain, an icy downpour that had everyone scattering to get the camp set up in a sheltered clearing that managed to remain relatively dry. Rhiann was sitting in Alistair's tent, scribbling in her journal while he dozed nearby. So accustomed were they to spending each evening in each others' company that it had never occurred to them to hole up separately, though she wasn't much looking forward to leaving the warm shelter to get to her own.

She glanced over at him to find him staring moodily at the ceiling of the tent, fingering the amulet she had found for him. He had been uncharacteristically quiet so far, enough so that she was a little concerned for him. Apparently it was time to talk about what had happened at Redcliffe.

"He cares about you, you know."

He didn't bother to ask what she was talking about. "Is that so?"

She sighed at the sarcastic tone. Wearing down his defenses was never the easiest of tasks. She carefully marked her page with the quill and set her journal aside, preparing for a long battle ahead. "Alistair..."

"No!" he sat up, turning away from her as much as he could in the small space. He busied himself with digging through his pack for something likely non-existent just so he didn't have to look at her.

Unless he planned to shove her outside into the downpour, he wasn't getting away that easily. She pressed on. "We need to at least consider what Eamon suggested as an option."

"No we don't, really. Let Eamon find some other pawn to jump around at his whim."

"I don't think that's what he sees you as," she said quietly.

"No? I've wondered about that quite a lot, actually. I never did understand why he took me in in the first place, then lo and behold, it turns out I'm the king's bastard. Then he sends me away for the sake of that _shrew_, only to make friendly again when the throne is in question. Doesn't that seem more than a little convenient to you?"

"Of course it does," she admitted, and the answer seemed to surprise him. At least he turned back to her. "Arl Eamon is a man with a number of responsibilities," she said slowly. "The nobles' lives depend on building strategies that will unfold years later. They have to, with ambitious men like Howe in the world. I have no doubt that he had that in mind when he took you in."

"Well, then, discussion over, right? Want to get embarrassingly drunk with me?"

"That doesn't make his idea a bad one," she argued, ignoring him. "And it doesn't mean he doesn't _care_ about you."

"Funny, I'd say it means _exactly _that."

"Why did you first join up with me?" she asked him, and it seemed to bring him up short. "Because you were instantly bowled over by my charm? Or because I was _useful_ to you?"

"That was _different_."

"Not remotely. You needed me for what I was. So tell me you don't care about me."

He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "Fine. I'll think about what you said. But that doesn't change the whole – king - thing. I don't want the crown and I never will. You know that."

She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side as she regarded him. "Sometimes I wonder if _you_ even know for sure."

He glared at her, stung. "Well then tell me, O Wise One. What is it that I want?"

She rolled her eyes at him, unaffected by the surly reply. "Honestly, Alistair, you can be such a _child_ sometimes. I'm only asking you if you've ever really sat down and thought about it at all."

"I think about it every _blasted _day. Every time I watch you arguing with Morrigan and dealing with hysterical villagers and Maker knows what else, all I can think is that I'm glad it's not me, that I'm not stuck in a position where I can muck up everything. And you want me to run a country?"

She considered him for a moment, giving the question the careful thought it deserved. "I think you underestimate yourself."

That apparently wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Rhiann, I _don't want to talk about this_."

"You're going to have to face who you are eventually," she said, and the sudden gentleness in her voice seemed to take all of the fight out of him. He slumped back, rubbing his eyes.

"I wasn't raised to this like you were," he said a moment later, sounding unsure for the first time since she had brought it up. "I don't know _how_ to be a king."

"You're smart, Alistair. And I think the important things come more naturally to you than you might think. All the rest can be learned."

"But my life won't be my own anymore," he argued, so low that she could barely hear him, even as close as she was. "It will belong to Ferelden and I..." he looked up, and there was a combination of shame and desperation in his eyes. "Rhiann... I don't want to _lose_ you."

She hadn't been ready for that. It took her breath away, emptying her mind of all the careful articulation she had planned for this argument, leaving her staring at him like a half wit.

"I know, it's the worst possible timing, but that honestly seems to be my specialty, and I'm likely and idiot for saying it out loud, but-" he rambled shakily, unnerved by her lack of response. "But I can't imagine being without you - not … ever."

She moved closer to him, sliding her arms around him. "Alistair..."

His fingers tangled in her hair as he looked into her eyes. "Don't. You know as well as I do if I agree to this that we can't know what will happen. Please – I don't want to think about it. Not yet."

She had no choice but to agree to that, because he was telling her he wanted to be with her, still, when this whole mess was over and done with - even if it was a little underhanded to scatter her train of thought that way. She leaned in and kissed him, letting herself sink into his warmth. Alistair was holding her like he had never asked for anything else in his life. She pushed every other thought from her mind, the desire to be lost in this one moment nearly overwhelming.

His hands were gentle as the pressure of his mouth increased, fingers drifting out of her hair and down the back of her neck. One arm coiled around her waist to pull her closer, and she obliged, pushing herself into his lap. A small noise escaped the back of his throat, but he didn't pull away. She felt his hand tentatively slip under the hem of her shirt to glide along the bare skin of her back. She coaxed him, shifting slightly to wrap her legs around his waist, and then came the breathtaking discovery that the emphatic bond between them would also include _desire._ She gasped as his mouth left hers to trail a warm, soft line down her throat, and instinct alone pressed her hips more firmly into his, reveling at the sound of his breath catching. She made a decision then, ramifications be damned.

She would enjoy this man while he was hers to enjoy.

Rhiann slowly and deliberately pulled away, and a single nagging voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was possibly the _stupidest_ thing she'd ever done in her life since they were _just talking_ about how difficult it could become for them to stay together, but the voice wasn't strong enough to dissuade her, and with a deep breath to settle her nerves she pulled her shirt over her head. His eyes widened, then became darker as they feasted on her bared skin. Slowly he came forward, consenting to her unvoiced decision by guiding her back to lie on the blankets beneath him. For a moment he hovered over her, braced on one arm while he yanked his own shirt off and tossed it aside. Briefly she felt a twinge of fear – he was so much larger than she was – but he was exceedingly gentle when he lowered his body over hers and kissed her again, softly now.

"I love you."

Even though he had all but admitted it already the words hit her powerfully, and she felt the tension leave her as suddenly as it had come, because she knew he _meant_ it and that would make all the rest okay. He touched her, cautiously at first, but grew more daring with each sigh and gasp that escaped her. She melted into him as he explored her with his mouth and hands, and her remaining clothes felt awkward and out of place, so it was only natural to her when he began to pull clumsily at the laces of her leggings. She helped him, her breathing shallow and ragged, but when he knelt between her legs to unlace his own pants she had one last shiver of modesty and her eyes flew to his. They were dark with desire, running slowly over her body as she waited for him, and yes – he was just as nervous as she was. The thought brought a smile to her lips and she reached up to gather him to her.

His mouth was back on the tender skin of her neck and he was pushing into her, and though she expected the sharp stab of pain a cry escaped her anyway. Apparently her ex-Templar knew more about these things than he had let on, though, because for a long time he remained perfectly still, that wonderful mouth of his exploring hers with all the care he had shown the rest of her, though she could feel what the restraint was costing him as a thin sheen of perspiration dampened his skin. She wanted to know the rest of it, was ready for him, but she wasn't really sure how to _tell_ him that so she did the only thing that made sense to her and tilted her hips up.

His willpower broke with a groan, and when he began to move within her the pain had become an abstract, distant thing. A new tension began to coil within her and she clung to him, bringing her legs up to curl around him, her body arching in demand for something she didn't understand. The unfamiliar tension built higher until at last it broke over her like a wave, and his mouth was back on hers to swallow her cry of pleasure before he shuddered and collapsed against her, his breathing as ragged as her own.

She felt as if she were drifting slowly back down to earth and reality, every muscle in her body feeling wonderfully languid, and she idly wondered with a grin why they hadn't done this _sooner_.


	11. Chapter 11

Aiden was hungry.

He debated mentioning this to someone, but he didn't want to take his attention from his human. She and their friends exuded sorrow, and Aiden looked up helplessly at her, wondering what could be so wrong. Only days before she had been happy, happier than she had been ever since the night of fire and blood and men that tasted like betrayal. He didn't understand what had changed.

They had been in this area before, a long time ago when the dark man who had smelled sharply of experience and danger brought them here together. But now his human was frightened, and concern for her had overpowered the whining pangs of an empty stomach. She had been distracted since finding the dying man in the forest, and he couldn't really complain if this meant she sometimes forgot to feed her faithful dog because Rhiann often forgot to feed _herself_.

Generally the knight assisted him in taking care of his human, and even if he wasn't quite as observant as Aiden would like and he tended to blush and stammer a lot, he at least reminded her when it was time to eat and sleep and _feed _the_ dog_, and he made her laugh when she was troubled and protected her when he could. Rhiann liked these things about her knight. And when his human was happy, Aiden was happy.

But now the knight was as grey and serious as she was, and didn't seem to realize that this would be a good time to make her _happy_.

They walked through snow and rock and trees that remembered old blood. They had been walking for a long time, but there was no talk or songs or comforting pats on the head, and his rumbling stomach was getting louder and no one noticed. Aiden trotted up to walk along side his human and nudged her hand, feeling a little guilty for troubling her, but justified with the thought that a dog weak with hunger was really no good to anyone.

"Not now, boy," she mumbled, but put a hand on his head as she stopped to look out over the wild forest from the top of the hill. Rising above the treetops was the sight of the old ruined fortress, and for a moment her fingernails curled in his fur and this wasn't exactly comfortable, but he understood that it was mirroring some pain inside her and somehow this helped, and so he sat patiently and let her. With a sigh and a shake of her head she started down the hill, despondent and preoccupied and he wondered irritably why no one was trying to make her _better_. Aiden waited until the knight passed him, and with a sharp bark demanded to know what he planned to _do_ about this.

"Hush," the knight reprimanded quietly, and Aiden would have cheerfully bitten the man for being so dense, but he got the feeling that that would make his human angry so he settled for a disapproving growl.

They had reached the ruins now, and Aiden could smell death and regret and sadness. His human and her knight looked at each other gravely, and he recognized this meant they were going into the fortress. There was danger there – it made his nose quiver and his muscles twitch and he bounded forward, but Rhiann bent down and shook her head, scratching him behind the ears. "Not this time, boy. Stay here with Oghren."

He objected with a whine – the dwarf smelled like too many things for one animal to sort out and surely she _needed_ her dog right now? But she was no longer paying attention to him and she and her knight and the elf who smelled like shadows and the woman who smelled like ice and magic all started forward into the ruins.

"C'mon then, mongrel," the dwarf said gruffly once they had gone. "I think I gotta hunk of jerky here somewhere for ya..."

The idea of food brightened his outlook considerably, enough to overlook the highly offensive _mongrel_, but still he couldn't help but look back at his human, so pale and unhappy, and he flopped down onto his stomach with a sigh and wondered how serious she had been about that word _stay_.

-oOo-

The sky was clear, a soothing veil of lavender and gold over the roar of the pyre. The company stood in silent vigil, heads bowed while Leliana softly hummed a tune of mourning as the flames claimed the remains of the man who had once been king. As the fire began to recede and the sky deepened to purple the others drifted away one at a time as silently as they had watched. Zevran was the last to go, hesitating a moment as he laid a comforting hand on Alistair's shoulder before turning and disappearing into the velvety shadows.

Alistair continued to watch the flames, unable to drag his gaze from the face so like his own, even when all that remained were embers and ash. Rhiann stayed with him, not speaking but holding his hand to offer what comfort she could, trying not to shiver as the warmth faded and the cold night embraced them.

"I wonder what he wanted," he whispered at last, and the last of the glow from the pyre reflected in his eyes. Rhiann turned to him but he didn't look away, speaking as much to himself as he was to her. "I can't help but think..."

He didn't finish, and the words of the dying soldier seemed to hover heavily in the frigid air, brittle as ice. _Even Cailan, for all his bravado, knew there would be no victory at Ostagar._

The man with a familiar boyish grin, with dreams of glory and legend, had made certain to send the last heir to his father's crown away on a menial task rather than risk his life in a hopeless battle.

He was more of a king than she had given him credit for.

Her heart went out to her lover, who looked faintly bewildered even in his grief, that he could mourn someone he barely knew with such intensity. The weight of his bloodline was again pressing down on him, and Rhiann would not prod him any more on the subject. She could practically hear his thoughts, the way the idea trembled and shied in his mind even as he forced himself to consider what he had so vehemently denied every time before this.

Without another word Alistair turned away and began the trek back to the camp the others had set up in the cleansed ruins. He slipped his arm around her waist, wincing a little as he drew her closer. "You're freezing," he murmured.

She didn't answer, but draped her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder as they continued on in silence.

-oOo-

Rhiann had not intended to linger in Ostagar, but a reminder of a promise made forced her look at the ruins in a new light. With the darkspawn driven out the fortress held the only real protection to be found in the Wilds, and for the task ahead, they would likely need a secure campsite for at least another day.

Alistair was watching her with a cross between annoyance and desperation as she armed herself. "I don't suppose there's any way I can talk you out of this."

They were sitting in the tent they shared, Rhiann critically eying her weapons for any signs of disrepair. "I made a promise," she said calmly.

"So _break_ it." He said it like it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. "Go and tell Morrigan that you had momentarily forgotten that trying to kill Flemeth was _insane, _and now you've remembered and you're very, very sorry, but _no_."

She sighed as she slid the dagger into its sheath and picked up her sword for the same careful examination. "You know I can't do that."

He caught her upper arms, turning her around to look at him. "I don't, actually. All I know is that I feel a powerful desire to object to plans that may get you killed. Particularly unnecessary ones."

Rhiann gazed at him levelly, and he looked down at his hands as if he hadn't realized he was still clutching her and quickly let go. "Flemeth is going to _kill_ her, Alistair," she said quietly.

He crossed his arms and opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it shut almost immediately, grinding his teeth. She could guess that he had thought better about demanding to know why that should matter. Instead he took a deep breath, saying rationally, "You don't _know _that. All we have to go on is Morrigan's word."

She thought about that, acknowledging that he could be right. Although Morrigan was a shady soul, fully capable of double dealings and hiding the truth, she didn't really strike her as someone who would flat out lie. The witch took far too much pleasure in making people uncomfortable with her blunt honesty for that. She shook her head. "I don't think so. I think she's honestly terrified."

Alistair threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "Why are you so determined to do this?"

"Because she's my friend," Rhiann said simply, and ignored the way he rolled his eyes at that. "And, she's kept us alive more than once, sometimes at great risk to herself. I have to do the same for her."

He didn't answer, just stared moodily at the ground.

"Are you coming?" she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Of course I am," he muttered. "If anything else, this whole thing is going to turn out catastrophically bad and I have to at least be there to say 'I told you so.'"

-oOo-

She had known even before Flemeth offered them the ultimatum that it would come down to a fight. Tempting though it had been to walk away – and Alistair had given her a most significant glance to let her know that he was all for the idea – she couldn't imagine telling such a colossal lie to Morrigan. Even if her conscience had not squirmed at the idea, it seemed too dangerous to take the risk.

But then, that was before Flemeth revealed the true extent of her power to them.

The air crackled with magic as the infamous witch stepped away, the power of the Fade gathering around her at her beckoning. Her form distorted, stretching impossibly, radiating dark fury and unfathomable power. The shadow grew and twisted, red eyes glaring at them malevolently from black scales as she continued to swell until she loomed over them, forked tongue hissing to taste the fear in the air.

Alistair had been so secure in his belief that something was going to go horribly wrong that he didn't even look surprised, only swore in a resigned kind of way. "Damn it all..."

-oOo-

"Sten!"

Rhiann came running back into the camp with Zevran following close behind her. Both were soaked with sweat and bleeding, black smears of what looked like soot smeared all over them. Rhiann was more panicked than Leliana had ever seen her, strands of her hair loose from her braid and hanging in damp tendrils around her face, nearly sobbing for breath as she gasped out a broken account of what had happened. "Flemeth is – was – a dragon. Alistair – none of us is strong enough to carry him."

Sten seemed to understand immediately, setting off without need of further explanation. Leliana could only stand there stupidly in her shock, until Rhiann's words sank in.

Flemeth. Dragon. _Alistair..._

Leliana had not experienced rage in some time, and even then it was not like now. There was no hurt or loss to accompany the sensation rolling through her, only blinding hatred for the woman who sat at the edge of camp, seemingly unmoved by what had just transpired. She marched up to Morrigan, her hands curled into fists so tightly that she could feel her fingernails cutting into her skin.

"This is your fault." Morrigan looked up at the hiss of words, but did not respond, only looking at her with a blank stare that Leliana wanted to _grind _off of her face. "_You_ sent them there - and you didn't even _warn_ them! How could you _do_ something like that?"

"I am not answerable to you," Morrigan returned, but the words were a knee-jerk reaction of pride – there was no heat behind them. She looked as cold and unfeeling as ever and Leliana wanted to leap across the distance and _strangle_ her.

"You don't care about him at all, do you?" she demanded, her lilting voice slicing through the air in sheer disgust. "Because he dared to insult you, you don't even care that you may have gotten him _killed_! You _know _better than all of us the risks that Alistair takes!"

Morrigan's eyes went stubbornly blank and her jaw tightened. "He will not die."

As if that were all that mattered. As if her precious book was worth the suffering, worth the deception of sending her _friends_ in and allowing them to be so utterly blindsided. Revulsion curled up the bard's spine and she would have launched herself at the witch - curse her and her magicks! - but suddenly there was a thick arm around her waist like a vice and with a heave Oghren tossed her over his shoulder to haul her back to her tent.

"Oghren!" she screeched, pounding on his back for an outlet to her rage, "Put me down!"

"'F you say so," he said, and promptly dropped her on her backside. She landed hard on the cracked stone, wincing and rubbing her bruised tailbone.

The dwarf looked distinctly unapologetic. "The kid doesn't need to come back and find you two pullin' each other's hair out. She's got enough on her plate," he said firmly, and Leliana glared at him, tears of anger more than pain forming in her eyes. He turned to stomp away, unmoved by her expression.

"'Sides," he muttered into his beard, "If there's gonna be a cat fight at least wait for Zevran."

Leliana would have retorted to the misplaced humor, but at that moment the others appeared. There was such a flurry of activity that Leliana barely caught sight of Alistair as Sten ducked into the tent, but what she saw made her stomach twist. They had managed to get his armor off of him and his skin was red and black with severe burns that covered most of his chest and the entirety of his left arm. A glint of silver appeared at his shoulder and she gasped as she realized that some of the chain mail rings must have melted into his skin.

Morrigan approached Rhiann as the Warden was issuing orders, looking slightly pale. Rhiann did not stop to see what the witch had to say, only shoved the black book into her hands and disappeared into the tent with Wynne. She clutched the book to her chest, her yellow gaze fixed on the tent where Alistair lay, and for a moment she looked so vulnerable that Leliana could not think of a single insult.

-oOo-

Wynne was exhausted after the battle and even as she drained a lyrium potion Rhiann knew that her lack of focus made her a dangerous component. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she called on the power of the Fade, and even barely conscious as he was Alistair let out an agonized cry as the magic encompassed him. Wynne drew back the power immediately, her breath coming in ragged and agonized gasps and she closed her eyes, willing herself to focus and try again. The deep gashes across his chest where Flemeth had raked razor sharp claws right through his armor were bleeding sluggishly, and Rhiann didn't know if it was the result of the healing or something more dire. She grit her teeth and continued to press on them as the healer had instructed, desperate to stop the crimson flow that carried his life away in rivulets. She couldn't bring herself to look at the rest.

"I can assist you, if you wish."

Only the shock of hearing that voice, sounding almost gentle, could have dragged her attention away from Alistair. Morrigan stood in the tent opening, her satchel of herbs and potions in her hands.

Wynne vehemently shook her head, her blue eyes blazing with anger. "I believe you have done enough here."

Morrigan sneered at the reply and what gentleness had been in her tone gave way to condescending impatience. "You are weak," she snapped. "Your power is long since spent and you risk the lives of everyone here with your feeble grasp on the Fade. Would you really see him die in order to put me in my place?"

"How _dare_ you suggest-"

"Wynne!" Rhiann interrupted sharply, but her eyes remained on Morrigan. The witch's face was cool and impassive, but there was a flicker of regret in her strange eyes as she stood under Rhiann's scrutiny.

It was enough for her. She got up to make room for Morrigan, pausing to meet the woman's gaze at the opening.

"Save him."

It wasn't a plea but a command, and with a curt nod, Morrigan knelt at Alistair's side.


	12. Chapter 12

Once Wynne had regained her strength and was able to tend to Alistair throughout the day, it did not take long for him to recover to the point where lying about doing nothing was driving him mad. Like so many things did for him, his frustration played itself out in an unending stream of sarcasm, each complaint sulkier than the last until Rhiann was more than a little tempted to gag him.

Given the way the others were strictly avoiding his company, she was _sure_ she could round up help if he put up a fight.

"Wynne," he complained one afternoon as the healer examined the stitches across his chest. "You know I love you, but if you tell me even once more to sit still and rest I may have to toss you far away somewhere."

"As you haven't _been _resting, I sincerely doubt you have the strength," Wynne returned with a small frown, and rather than dabbing the cuts as she had been she upended a potion and poured it on them.

"_Yeow_!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Alistair. I forgot to warn you that may sting a bit."

Wynne looked rather pleased with herself as he scowled at her. "You're a _wicked_ woman. You know that, right?"

"You inform me of it several times a day, actually," she retorted dryly.

"Alistair," Rhiann said with deliberate patience from her corner, not looking up from a map she was trying to study in the filtered sunlight. "If you could keep from driving Wynne to try to kill you, I would appreciate it."

"Have you decided where we're going?" Wynne asked her, ignoring her patient as his complaints dissolved into unintelligible grumbling.

"Northeast," she answered promptly. "To the Brecilian Forest. It's high time we sought out the elves."

"I thought you wanted to return to Redcliffe and oversee the arrival of the dwarves?" Alistair asked, apparently unable to maintain his pique long enough to stay quiet.

"I did, but I don't think we have the time. The elves may prove difficult to find and it's nearly spring."

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," he said. "We have a couple of months yet. But you're right enough about the elves being difficult to track down. And with our luck, some catastrophe has left them unable to uphold their end of the treaty and we'll be running about for weeks trying to fix it for them." He looked pointedly at Wynne. "I certainly hope my sword arm hasn't gone all flabby by then. I'm afraid I may not be much good to you, lying about as I have been. I wonder if I can still walk?"

"Whining is not inclusive to _rest_, Alistair," Wynne scolded tiredly.

"Oh come on, Wynne," he said, abruptly changing tactics by giving her his most charming grin. "You know I'll heal much faster if I can move around a bit. I'll be very careful. Rhiann can keep me out of trouble, I swear it."

Rhiann snorted at that notion.

"You're not _helping,_" he griped.

"I wasn't trying to help," she answered, and smiled at the look he gave her. She wasn't concerned. He was bound to get his way eventually. Wynne had a terrible soft spot where Alistair was concerned, and he could be ridiculously charming when he wanted something.

Sure enough, later that afternoon he was outside and basking in the sunlight, chatting amiably with Oghren and ignoring Wynne's insistence that he _sit down_. Rhiann refused to side with the mage's amplified precautions, not only because Alistair was so much happier than he had been, but because she needed to determine how much his strength had returned. They could not stay here until he was fully recovered, and though his arm was still in a sling and would be useless for at least a few more days they needed to move on as soon as he was up to traveling. He seemed to be recovering remarkably quickly, but as the afternoon faded into evening she found him back in the tent, snoring softly. Apparently it would still be a little while before they could leave this place.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as she gathered up the piles of clothing strewn about the tent. "I guess I overdid it a bit."

"Go back to sleep," she said softly and tossed the blanket over him before she ducked back outside with the bundle beneath her arm and headed for the river.

-oOo-

The evening shadows stretched across the landscape as the running water sparkled a myriad of colors reflected from the setting sun. Even up to her elbows in dirty laundry, Rhiann was a breathtaking sight in his eyes. The muted light complimented her exotic beauty to perfection, and he watched with appreciation as one milky white hand rose out of the water to brush a stray lock of ebony hair from her brow. He dared to step closer, careful to keep from to the shadows, his footfalls stirring not so much as a breath of sound in the snow that had yet to melt in the shadows of the trees.

"I can see you, Zevran," she said without looking up, and he chuckled to himself and stepped out of hiding. She was much more dangerous than the others gave her credit for.

"Very good, _bella,_" he said with professional admiration. Recently he had agreed to teach her a few tricks of the trade, as they were, in return for lessons of his own in wielding two longswords. Though she preferred the use of sword and dagger, he had seen her fight with either, and her skill in using two weapons that felt ungainly and awkward in his hands was enviable to one of his trade. "I wondered if perhaps you were up to one of our lessons this evening. You must be wound tightly after so many days with so little to behead."

She gave him a small smile. "Just let me finish up here first." She wrung out the shirt she had been scrubbing and tossed it into the pile with the others – a shirt far too large to be hers. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So the Templar has you doing his chores for him now?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "As opposed to the way he helps with mine when he has two good arms?" she countered, and her eyebrow quirked at his at his expression. "I see you hadn't realized that."

His lip curled with distaste. "A handy sort of lapdog to keep around, then."

Rhiann made a sound between a groan and a sigh and fixed him with an irritated look. "Don't start on Alistair."

"And why should I not?" he asked harshly, moving closer to her. "You deserve better. You are not a princess locked away in a tower waiting for your knight. The boy does not understand that."

She scoffed at the notion, raising his ire further. "He understands me much better than you seem to want to give him credit for."

"Is that so?" he asked in a low voice as he crouched down beside her. He leaned near enough to catch the scent of lilacs that clung to her like a fine mist. "Does he understand what it is that drives you so?" he questioned quietly, seductively. "The hatred and fury that you keep locked away?" He smiled unpleasantly and his fingers teased the end of her braid, hanging down her back to the small of her waist. "Does he understand that you hide this from him?" he continued relentlessly. She flinched at his words and his smile widened, a hunter who's spotted his prey. "You need me, my dark beauty, not that child. You need someone who knows the shadows that lurk behind your soul."

Rhiann scrambled to her feet and turned to retort, but his proximity caught her by surprise. Before she could react he slid his arms around her and captured her mouth against his. For a moment she yielded to his expertise, just a breath of a second he could taste the sweet flavor of sultry innocence before she firmly shoved him away, her hand coming up like a wall between them. Her eyes were hard and uncompromising as she regarded him, and the warning there made him backpedal a step.

"I do need you, Zevran," she said quietly, but she remained ice all over despite the warmth of the words. "So - don't make me choose between you."

She gathered up her clothes and walked away, her step sure and her back stiff with resolve. He exhaled slowly as he watched her go, resignation settling in like a bitter aftertaste. There certainly seemed no chance that she would warm his bed, now or ever. If only that blasted Warden had not gotten to her before he had. Things would have turned out differently, of that he was confident.

Yet she had admitted that she needed him, that he was more than a convenient ally and hired knife wielder, even if she had told him in the same breath that Alistair was her only choice.

Minx. Such manipulation was admirable.

Zevran laughed to himself, but it was hollow and without humor. He hadn't really expected differently, but he would be no better than the bumbling idiot back at camp if he had not at least tried. The only thing that really surprised him was the force of his disappointment. For a moment he considered leaving, cutting his losses and walking away from this entire situation, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to do that, either.

He tried to blame it on curiosity – it had killed more than one cat in its day, after all – but the excuse rang false even to him. He cared about that infuriating woman, enough that he was incapable of walking away now. He wasn't a person who concerned himself with ideas of love or lack thereof, but he could admit that she was far more important to him than a possible conquest.

Heaving a sigh, he followed her back to the camp.

One thing was for certain. She made him think entirely too much.

-oOo-

Alistair was awake when she returned to camp, still bleary eyed but trying to force down a bit of food before he would likely return to his blankets. Rhiann was still lost in her thoughts as she began to drape the freshly laundered clothes over every rock and bush within reach. She went about the task with more flourish than was necessary, nearly flinging their belongings down and stomping in sheer frustration. So many times in her youth minstrels would come to court telling tales of women being pursued by two men. The storybooks she had read as a child often carried the same theme, this idea that true love involved fighting for what you wanted, of proving yourself. All those stories managed to make it sound terribly romantic, rather than the colossal nuisance it was in reality.

Alistair glanced up just as she finished, apparently just noticing where she had been. "You didn't have to do that," he said. "I would have..." his voice trailed off as he caught the expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

She certainly wasn't going to tell him about the encounter by the river. Injured or no, Alistair would break Zevran's neck if he found out. Much as she wasn't exactly opposed to the idea right now, she had to assume she would change her mind later. "Nothing."

He raised an eyebrow at her. Rhiann could lie so convincingly and with such ease that it had become a running joke in their little band, but for some reason it never worked on him. Whether it was the taint or the fact that he simply knew her so well she wasn't sure, but at times it was damned inconvenient. His gaze automatically went to the assassin, and she could see a storm gathering there.

She sat down beside him and drew her knees to her chest. "It's nothing. I just have a headache."

He wasn't convinced, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I'm going to have to kill somebody, aren't I?"

She crossed her arms over her knees and hid her face with a long sigh. She should have known better than to try to put him off. "Can I ask you to do something for me that may not be as easy as it sounds?"

"It's sounding dire as it is," he said slowly, unnerved by her demeanor. It would never cease to amaze her, how insecure he could be in the hold he had on her.

She looked back up, careful to meet his gaze so he could see her honesty. "Trust me," she said simply.

"I do trust you."

"Do you?" she prodded, and her mouth twisted in acerbic irony when he looked down. She wasn't the only one who couldn't get away with anything less than honesty. Still, she reminded herself that it wasn't really his fault. Zevran was at her side nearly as often as he was, and she had always put off his jealousy as a petty emotion that didn't deserve consideration. It was horribly unfair of her, in hindsight. "I realize I've never been very straightforward about this," she admitted softly. "You don't have to worry about Zevran. Ever. Can you believe that?"

He still looked wary, but his expression softened as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then I have a confession to make as well. You're going to drive me _insane_, I swear it."

She grinned a little at that. "Well, it wouldn't be much of a stretch, now would it?"

"All the same, I've worked long and hard not to advertise it. Tucked that bit away with painstaking care and years of passing it off as plucky bravery. It's rather rude of you to show up and undo it all."

"Don't worry too much about it. You weren't fooling anyone, anyway."

-oOo-

The Brecilian Forest was teeming with life by the time they found a Dalish leader who could get word to the wandering tribes. New grass sprouted from the softened ground and blossoms decorated the young trees, their branches reaching to the sky as if stretching in the sun after a long winter's sleep. Leliana giggled with delight at the pleasurable warmth of the afternoon, letting her feet dangle in a stream as they stopped to catch their bearings in the dense forest.

The omens of spring were less welcome to Rhiann, much as she enjoyed shedding her winter cloak. It had been nearly a year since Ostagar. They were running out of time, and the plague that haunted the Dalish would not be cured easily or quickly before they were able to send the necessary archers to Redcliffe. She sighed and shook her head.

Werewolves.

_Honestly_.

She irritably wondered if anything else could possibly go wrong, then cursed herself for the mental jinx when they at last found the lair of the beasts. The ancient ruin was a rat's nest of corridors and dead ends, crumbing stone and enormous tree roots blocking many of the passages and turning the entire construct into a dark labyrinth of traps and unseen dangers.

"Did I call it or what?" Alistair groused, using his sword to clear away the cobwebs that choked their passage. "Only our luck would bring back a plague that hasn't broken out for nearly a century."

"True enough," she agreed tiredly. "But from the looks of things, this illness is spreading rapidly, and the wolves seem to be targeting the young warriors. There's no way they can fulfill their end of the treaty if this continues."

"I don't like it," he said, frowning a little. "Werewolves are the result of demonic possession, and so of great interest to the Templars. I've never heard of one able to speak before, let alone offer ultimatums."

"And we all know, the Chantry has no interest at all in altering the truth in order to further its cause," Zevran said dryly.

Alistair conceded that with a shrug. "They may embellish the truth, but it is usually the truth still. And the magic we encountered in the forest – there's something going on here that no one is telling us about."

Even Zevran couldn't argue with that assessment, and they continued in silence before they came to a break in the path. Rhiann glanced down the identical looking hallways and groaned inwardly. They could wander around this place for days, finding only cobwebs and undead and more _dragons_. Weren't those supposed to be _rare_?

"Perhaps Leliana and I could go ahead and explore," Zevran offered unexpectedly. "My apologies, but I have very little desire to explore this hole in the ground much longer. We are both skilled in avoiding detection should trouble arise."

Rhiann debated for a moment before nodding her agreement. "Don't go too far. Just enough to make sure we're not walking into another dead end."

Alistair pulled off his helm and leaned against the wall as the rogues vanished, preparing for the wait ahead of them. He glanced at her with a hint of concern. "How are you?"

She understood what he was asking. "I think I've had enough of the underground to last me for a lifetime, but I'm not going to fall apart like I did in the Deep Roads." She idly skipped her fingers over the braid that hung over her shoulder. "Promise me when this is over and done with we'll live somewhere where I never have to walk into dank, dark caves again."

"Done. Location with an altitude – got it." He was quiet for a little while, pondering something before he offered hesitantly, "We could go to Highever." He was keeping his voice deliberately low in case Zevran and Leliana were still within earshot and Rhiann did a double take, unsure she had heard him correctly.

"What?"

He ran a hand through his hair, the words coming quickly but still quietly, as if he needed to say this before he lost the nerve. "I don't know. I imagine you never want to set eyes on the castle again, but you speak so often of the sea, and well – if this whole trying to put me on the throne thing doesn't work out, I just thought - maybe - we could go to Highever."

She wasn't sure what surprised her more, the idea that he had put some thought into what came after the Blight or the fact that he had seriously factored what _she_ would want into his calculations. "What about rebuilding the Order?"

"We could do that," he said slowly. "But as someone pointed out to me, we don't exactly have anyone to answer to here. We could start where we wanted, couldn't we?"

She blinked. "You would go to Highever with me?"

He crossed his arms, looking abruptly shy as he studied the ground. It was almost amusing, the way words suddenly became difficult for him when they mattered. "I just want to be where you are."

She felt like a merchant who polished a copper piece one day and discovered it was gold. "Alistair, I..." She wasn't exactly sure what she wanted to say, and ridiculously she suddenly felt as awkward as he usually did. "I'd like that."

The hopeful grin he gave her made her stomach do a tiny flip. "Really?"

"Really," she said, then laughed softly with a deliberate glance around them. "Although, you really should work on waiting for a more appropriate environment to make these declarations."

"More than you know," he muttered, his eyes flicking somewhere over her shoulder. "Do me a favor and don't turn around for a second."

He stepped behind her, and Rhiann heard the scrape of metal as he drew his sword followed by a screechy hiss. There was a sickening crunch and Alistair returned, calmly sheathing the weapon just as Zevran appeared at the end of the hall, gesturing for them to follow.

She shuddered from head to toe, her back squirming with uncomfortable chills. "Was that another _damn spider_?" she demanded, her voice much higher than she preferred.

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they continued down the dark corridor. "Ignorance is bliss, love."

-oOo-

The celebration in the Dalish encampment was a muted one, the pall caused by the loss of their leader felt even amidst the merriment and song. There was still much to be celebrated, and Alistair couldn't help but be warmed by the sight of those affected by the illness reunited with loved ones who had thought them lost forever. It seemed so rarely that they were actually able to help real people with problems, rather than running errands for powerful men with more powerful ambitions.

He was becoming soft and sentimental, he supposed.

Or maybe it was just the wine.

Rhiann was by the fire, dressed for the occasion in a soft white dress of simple design, her black hair braided on either side of her head and hanging over her shoulders like a priestess of the old gods. It was a suitable look for her in the wilds of their surroundings, and he felt his lips curve into a smile of appreciation as he watched her laugh and try to encourage Morrigan to sample some of the elven spirits that Oghren had managed to track down.

He winced at that. Drunk Morrigan. There was an experience he was _sure_ they could all live without.

Leliana flopped down beside him, flushed from dancing and smelling faintly like she had already done quite a bit of sampling already.

"I see you're enjoying yourself," he grinned at her as she swayed a bit before finding her balance on the log that was serving as a bench.

"So rarely do we get a chance to be happy," Leliana's eyes sparkled at the prospect. "And your armies are gathered, against all reason. It is indeed a night for celebration, no?"

Alistair smiled at the joy Leliana managed in every situation but did not answer, swirling the wine left at the bottom of his cup. The last thing he felt like doing was celebrating, with the return to Redcliffe before them. He supposed even his talent for wishful thinking could not convince him that Arl Eamon had given up on the idea of putting him on the throne. He downed the rest of the drink in an effort to chase the unwelcome thought away.

"You have a great many admirers, you know," she continued mischievously. "How many of these women have looked in your direction tonight!"

"They're _drunk_, Leliana."

She gave a tiny and utterly deliberate sigh. "I suppose your eyes have only caught the attentions of one, yes?" She seemed extremely pleased with herself, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

"So you had something to do with that, did you?" he asked, nodding towards Rhiann.

"Of course I did. You didn't think she would come out of that horrible armor without a great deal of persuasion, did you? Well, maybe it takes less persuasion when _you_ are asking, but-"

"_Leliana_!"

She laughed brightly at his mortified expression. "I'm sorry. You are simply too easy to tease."

She watched the others for a while, and her smile faltered, much to his chagrin. He didn't want her to be unhappy.

"I will admit to having an ulterior motive," she said wistfully. "So many things will happen now. I feel it catching up to us, this Blight we have only managed to outrun through luck and Rhiann's leadership. I wanted an evening to celebrate with my friends, to find some joy before we must continue. Is that wrong of me?"

Alistair sighed and put a friendly arm around her shoulders. "No, that's not wrong of you at all." He grinned and added, "Do me a favor, though. If Oghren offers you anything else tonight, say _no_. I think you've had enough."

She smiled, the cloud that had begun to gather over her breaking away, and she playfully shoved him off of their perch.

-oOo-

It was on unsteady feet that the party began the walk back to their own camp. The music and laughter still rang loudly behind them – the elves apparently had much more of a constitution for all night celebrations than they had realized. Rhiann was feeling pleasantly warm and slightly drowsy, both of her arms around Alistair as she used him to secure her trek through the dark woods. Leliana was leaning heavily on Zevran and even Wynne stumbled a bit. Alistair reached out and grabbed her elbow to steady her. "Something tells me we'll be spending a day in camp tomorrow," he said humorously.

"I'm fine," Wynne objected with perfect clarity. "Not all of us turn into imbeciles when there's a bit of drink to be had." Yet she rested her hand on Aiden with some pretense of patting his head as she righted herself.

Alistair didn't answer, just laughed beneath his breath and bent down slightly to kiss Rhiann's hair.

They came across Morrigan just outside the camp, sitting on the ground with her back braced against a tree and snoring.

Oghren grunted in disappointment. "She only took a couple of belts, too. No head for it."

Rhiann was just tipsy enough to find this extremely funny, and she choked off her giggles as Oghren nudged the witches' hand with his boot. Although he stayed silent she could feel Alistair laughing as well, apparently unwilling to be caught in his mirth should Morrigan wake up.

"Truly, Rhiann, your use of persuasion is nothing short of frightening at times," Zevran chuckled, and he passed the dozing bard to a startled Sten and bent down to pull one of Morrigan's arms around his neck before hauling her to her feet. She mumbled in protest but did not stir otherwise. The assassin shook his head in sadly. "What a different place the world would be if only you used your powers for good instead of evil."

Rhiann laughed as Alistair began to guide her away from the others, more than ready for a few moments alone after the crowded company of the past week. "Just dump her in her tent."

"That is easy for you to say," Zevran called, but he was grinning as he swung Morrigan up into his arms. "If she freezes off any part of my anatomy I shall be very, very displeased."

"I would be very careful about waking her up, then," Sten muttered, and looked confused when the group burst into laughter.

-oOo-

It was a triumphantly weary party that reached Redcliffe two weeks later. The courtyard was crowded with dwarves and mages, the elves having promised to be there before they returned from Denerim. Rhiann felt slightly dizzy as she looked over the crowds that filled the castle and yard, still amazed that they had managed to accomplish the hopeless task they had taken on in what seemed like an eternity ago.

She would have liked to rest, to enjoy their success for at least a few days before being pressed into the meeting with Arl Eamon, but realistically she knew that she had kept the man waiting long enough as it was. The Landsmeet had been called and the nobility of Ferelden would be traveling to Denerim within days. It was a testament to Eamon's popularity that he had accomplished that much without a single word said about his alternative solution to the current leadership. She took only long enough to make herself at least halfway presentable before joining him in the great hall, her ragtag group of adventurers in tow. She didn't think she would have been able to keep them away, not with such a decision hanging in the balance.

She didn't see much point in hedging, as there was only one thing the Arl would really be interested in hearing. Besides, if she didn't say it quickly, she may never get the words out.

"You have my support," she said clearly. "I'll add my voice to yours in putting Alistair on the throne."

"_What_?"

Eamon looked only relieved, ignoring the outburst behind her. "Take your rest, Warden. We leave for Denerim in three days."

She nodded and tried to escape, but Alistair caught her arm, pushed too far beyond human endurance to wait until they were alone. "Are you _really_ agreeing to this?" he asked incredulously, and Rhiann saw a look of pure terror behind his eyes. "What about the Wardens staying neutral? What about _us_?"

"This country needs a king," she said, careful to keep her voice level. "We're out of _time, _Alistair. We need unification now."

"Then let Anora do it. She's done splendidly as queen thus far. Maker knows she wants it so badly she can taste it. Those people don't even _know_ me. Why on earth would you pick _me_?"

Rhiann knew the answer, though she was hesitant to say it in front of their audience. Anora was capable, there was no doubt. But she was also calculating and ambitious and even ruthless when she saw fit. Rhiann was too familiar with the intricacies of court to deny that these were valuable traits to a woman in her position, but the country was in a different state than it had been when Cailan ruled. Alistair was capable of making those decisions, intelligent enough to learn the skills Anora excelled in. But at the same time, he had the compassion that Anora glaringly lacked. Loghain's daughter loved her country, but as an abstract, symbolic thing. Alistair's devotion was to its people, its farmers and peasants and soldiers. They would need such a ruler to heal them from this Blight.

She couldn't do it, couldn't perform that act of selfishness that would keep him from it.

Not even when it was all she wanted.

"They don't need Anora," she said simply, steadying her voice against the painful knot building in the back of her throat. "They need you, Alistair Theirin."

-oOo-

Their course decided, Arl Eamon felt it prudent to play the proper role for the return to Denerim. It wouldn't do for a claimant to the throne to arrive at the Landsmeet covered in filth from walking the roads. Much to Alistair's annoyance, Rhiann agreed to this bit of political strategy. Those who knew how to ride were given horses for the journey, while Oghren and Wynne bounced around in a carriage with Aiden. The dog did not take to traveling this way very well and howled miserably at the uncomfortable accommodations until Rhiann's gentle voice calmed him. Even then he sulked, ears and tail drooping as he flopped on the floor of the contraption with a depressed sigh.

Alistair wasn't much happier with his arrangement. They traveled in a group with Arl Eamon, Bann Teagan, and a dozen armed guards who insisted on surrounding them.

"I'm never going to get used to this," he lamented, glaring at Rhiann as if the entire display was her fault.

Which, admittedly, it mostly was.

"Think of it this way," she offered, "We don't have to take turns on watch."

Zevran perked up from his place directly behind them. "That's true, no?"

"And," Leliana added brightly, "Carts and provisions! No more stale bread and cold stew for our supper."

"I like cold stew," he grumbled stubbornly.

Eamon gave him a small smile. "It's only for the benefit of appearance, Alistair. Once we reach Denerim you'll be free again."

_Until the Landsmeet, after which he'll be dealing with this for the rest of his life_, Rhiann thought sourly, thinking this a rather cold comfort to offer. From the look on Alistair's face, he agreed with her.

They traveled the Northern Road, skirting around Lake Calenhad towards the Circle Tower. Although the crowd was a nuisance she could have done without, she had to admit it was pleasant to sleep the night through for the first time in nearly a year, leaving the concerns for the safety of others in the hands of capable warriors.

The fortress of the mages came into view the following morning. She her friends lingered at the crest of the hill to admire the view. The Circle had been on its way to being rebuilt on her last visit, healing from its terrifying ordeal under the wise guidance of Irving.

"I wonder if Dagna ever made it there," Alistair wondered aloud, glancing over at Rhiann with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"I don't know," she answered innocently. "But I don't think I'll feel right about it until we check."

"Me, either."

She grinned at him, and decided that becoming nobility was really a process better eased into, when you thought about it. "Race you."

Without looking back she kicked the horse into a gallop, Alistair right behind her, and Zevran and Leliana quickly followed suit. They raced ahead of the others, laughing as the guards grumbled and swore and tried to keep up, reveling in the feel of the wind and the sun while the fields of grass passed in a blur behind them. Trying, for this brief space of time, to outrun the unknown future that loomed before them.


	13. Chapter 13

Alistair sighed in the gathering twilight, bending down until he could cross his arms and lean on the high wall of the estate's highest tower in a deceptively casual pose. He didn't _like_ this plan, and couldn't understand why Rhiann had allowed Arl Eamon to convince her to wait before following them into Denerim. There was some sort of discussion about political tactics or some such nonsense that he didn't really listen to because he didn't particularly care. That was, until it was decided that Rhiann and their friends would wait a few days before joining them. _Then _he had objected.

"Alistair," Eamon explained patiently, "Rhiann is recognized on sight by a good deal of the nobility. The fact that she's the same Grey Warden that everyone has been hearing about for a year now only strengthens her position. We want her voice to stand on its own. Arriving with us makes the arrangement look too much like friendship rather then good, hard sense. Our stand at the Landsmeet will be stronger this way."

Whatever. The amount of thought put into appearances was already making him light headed. All he knew was that he hadn't been away from her for any amount of time in the past year and it was driving him crazy. Their penchant for drawing trouble had him envisioning a hundred ways she could be in danger, each one decidedly less likely then the last until even he had to admit he was being ridiculous.

The thought didn't bring him much comfort.

She should have been here by now.

He nearly sagged in relief when he saw the riders galloping towards the gates of Denerim. In an earnest desire to learn something of noble logic – preferably _before_ they stuck a crown on his head - he made himself watch the effect her arrival had on the citizens. It didn't take long for him to see there was some sense in their strategy – he had never really looked at their group the way an outsider would see them. Rhiann was a formidable sight, a warrior leading a pack of hard looking characters. The activity on the busy streets came nearly to a halt as she rode by, and people were pointing and muttering to each other when it became clear that the estate was their destination.

Any insight gained by this observation was short lived when they got close enough for him to see them more clearly. They had just come from battle, streaked with dirt and blood. He had seen her like that hundreds of times before, but for the first time he didn't know _why_ and that was _unacceptable_. With a curse at Arl Eamon under his breath he ran for the stairs.

It seemed the rest of the household had beat him there by the time he reached the courtyard, and as he saw Rhiann toss her reigns to a waiting page he had to settle for a visual confirmation that she was unhurt. She seemed to be, standing straight and engaged in an earnest conversation with the Arl. Still he pushed his way through the crowd, unable to put himself at ease until he knew for sure. She saw him and held out a hand, tossing him a brief, "I'm okay," before continuing her rapid speech, giving an account of bandits that had managed to ambush them in the woods. Something in her stance and tone of voice made Alistair's eyes narrow slightly.

She was _lying_.

The crowd dispersed quickly as the Arl began issuing orders to see their guests settled and Alistair yanked Rhiann into his arms, ignoring the wide-eyed looks of the remaining servants. "You're sure you're alright?"

"Yes, just tired," she answered, returning his embrace and resting her head against his chest. "I missed you, though." She allowed herself to stay like that for only a moment before stepping away. "We're providing enough gossip right now to undo the whole point of his separation."

"I doubt we're that interesting to a couple of pages."

Rhiann chuckled as they headed back into the estate. "My poor, sheltered Templar."

"Hey, I did grow up in a _castle_, you know. I have some idea of how these things work. Even if I wasn't raised a noble you can learn nearly anything by hanging around the ... oh. Nevermind, I see your point." He lowered his voice slightly. "So are you going to tell me what really happened?"

She glanced around cautiously and pulled him into a corner. "Assassins. They caught us this afternoon just inside the woods."

He was very tempted to ask her if that meant they would have more companions arriving soon, but she looked worried and anxious so he held his tongue. "Loghain?"

She shook her head, biting her lip. "I wasn't their target. It was Leliana."

"_Leliana_?"

"_Shh_! We don't need half of Denerim talking about how Arl Eamon is keeping three marks under his roof."

"Four, if you include the first assassin. They're still looking for him, aren't they?"

Rhiann groaned. "Maker's blood, I forgot about him." She fell back against the wall in sheer frustration and tilted her head up as if pleading with the heavens.

"Come on," Alistair said gently. "You'll feel better after you've cleaned up a bit." She nodded and allowed him to steer her down the hallway towards the room set aside for her. "So," he said brightly in an attempt to lighten the heavy silence that had settled over her. "How was your trip?"

She smiled at him and gave a little shrug. "Dull, really. There was only the one attempt on my life. Yours?"

-oOo-

"She's in Denerim," Leliana reported without prelude as she entered Rhiann's chamber. The bard pushed back the hood of her cloak, her eyes harder than Rhiann had ever seen them. "I couldn't find out where. She is keeping herself hidden."

"She probably knew you would look for her as soon as her hired killer never came back," Rhiann answered. She glanced around the room at her companions, all looking as grim and determined as Leliana. It was strange, but somewhere in between killing darkspawn and trying to kill each other, this unusual band of followers had become a family of sorts. All of them were outraged that some outsider had dared threaten one of their own, though not one of them would admit it aloud.

"Alistair, Zevran, Morrigan – come with me. The back alleys likely still have a few there who can tell us what we need to know," Rhiann instructed, reaching for her weapons.

"At least let me come with you," Leliana objected. "I'm the one Marjolaine is after."

"You'll never find her, if she's having you watched. We'll come back for you once we know where she is," Rhiann assured her. "I promise, Leliana. We won't confront her without you."

Leliana nodded slowly and hung her head as if her guilt had made it too heavy to lift. "Thank you."

Rhiann put a gentle hand on her arm. "I don't take kindly to people who try to kill my friends," she said, and had to smile at the way Zevran crooked an eyebrow at her. "Present company excluded."

-oOo-

The door crashed open and Alistair moved out of the way as Morrigan's spell soared in ahead of them through the portal, the magic billowing in icy cold mists of pure power as the bandits within tried to scramble for the exit. One lucky fellow was close enough when the attack began that he almost made it, but was met with a shield to the face and he fell back, unconscious. As the spell began to fade Alistair charged in, Zevran and Rhiann flanking him in the obscured din. For a while everything was chaos – a couple of the ruffians had managed to draw bows and get out of the path of the blizzard but Zevran and Rhiann were ready for them, forcing them into melee as Alistair faced down three men with swords. The air sizzled with magic and there was the scrape of metal and cries of pain, and then silence as the last bandit fell.

"Please tell me that fellow by the door is still alive," Zevran said tiredly. "I do not much like the idea of beginning the hunt all over again."

"That last lot had better been telling the truth," Alistair said, rolling his shoulders. "I mean, Sergeant Kylon is ready to build a monument to us for clearing out the last of these nests, but I don't know how long we can keep this up."

"He's alive," Morrigan said doubtfully, nudging the unconscious bandit near the door. "Though I don't know how much such a wretched looking specimen will know. 'Twould be most poetic, I must say, if we killed all _but_ the messenger." The others just stared at her and she rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefingers. "I have been in Alistair's company for far too long."

"Agreed," Alistair muttered and hauled the unconscious man to his feet, dropping him into a corner. He woke up with a groan, and yelped aloud at the sight of Zevran and Rhiann hovering over him.

"What do you want? I didn't do nuthin'!"

"That's up for debate. Tell me where this Marjolaine is hiding."

He went pale. "Yer that Warden! They've been sayin... I don't know nuthin!"

Zevran rolled his eyes. "Come, come, my friend, you don't honestly expect us to believe such a clumsy lie, do you? Tell the nice lady what she wants to know."

"And what're you goin' to do, torture me?" he gave her an unpleasant laugh. "Word's out about you, Warden. You don't stoop to such tactics."

"You're right, I don't," Rhiann answered. She glanced at Zevran, who, with a flick of his wrist, drew the dagger from his belt and stepped forward. "However, _he_ does."

The man took one look at the knife and fainted dead away. Zevran heaved a sigh. "Are you quite sure you do not want me to torture him? I think he may be very difficult to interrogate otherwise."

"Just scare him."

"But, if I might point out..."

"_No_, Zevran."

-oOo-

Rhiann sat with her legs curled up next to her on the soft rug of the room, idly stroking Leliana's golden red tresses while the bard sobbed in her lap. Alistair watched quietly from the doorway, his arms crossed and leaning casually in the frame while he idly watched for people who might interrupt them. The estate was quiet at this time of night and all he could hear was the crackle from the hearth and Leliana's soft sobs beneath Rhiann's murmuring reassurances. Having never suffered a crisis of faith in his life, Alistair didn't know what to say to the bard and so could only wait helplessly while Rhiann tried to talk to her.

He let his head fall back with a sigh. Some part of him was still angry, weary to his soul of people like Loghain and Marjolaine. People who ruined lives to take what they wanted. Leliana had only been trying to escape, to find some solace in a life that had offered anything but.

He glanced over at Rhiann, and once again he was amazed by this wonderful creature that had wandered into his life when he had least expected it. She took everything, all of their problems and heartaches and she dealt with them, over and over again. And still she had the strength to sit and comfort her friend, to stay up until the early hours of the morning consoling her.

He shook his head and smiled to himself. He wasn't sure he would ever understand what she saw in him.

Leliana's tears eventually quieted and Rhiann eased herself out from under the woman's sleeping form and covered her with a blanket.

"She'll be okay, I think," she whispered to him, rubbing tired eyes.

"What about you?" he asked softly, and she shrugged.

He drew her to him and she slipped easily into his embrace, stifling a yawn and closing her eyes. She was warm from the fire and soft against him in her exhaustion, sinking into his arms, and he wondered to himself if he could ever love anything in his life as much as he loved this woman.

"You're exhausted," he whispered. "Let's go to sleep."

"I thought we were supposed to be practicing more discretion while we were here," she answered sleepily, not opening her eyes.

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. He had no intention of doing anything but sleeping, but not without her. "I changed my mind."

-oOo-

"Perhaps the disguises would have been more prudent?" Zevran suggested as Rhiann yanked her sword out of the last of the guards in the hallway.

"We just would have ended up fighting our way out anyway, once they realized Anora was gone," she answered, breathless. She was more than a little impressed they had gotten through that last wave of soldiers unscathed.

"I think the more prudent decision would have been not to come in the first place," Alistair muttered, and rolled his eyes at the icy look Anora's maidservant gave him. "Oh, come off of it. If it had been me locked up here she would have left me to rot."

"As would we all," Morrigan added.

Alistair shook his head at her. "You honestly can't help yourself, can you?"

"Not _now_," Rhiann snapped at both of them, ignoring the way they looked at each other, puzzled. She was on edge. Arl Howe was here, in this manor. She wouldn't leave until she saw him dead.

-oOo-

Rhiann focused on the mage she was fighting, desperately trying not to turn around and watch as Alistair fought Arl Howe. This was their usual strategy, and they worked like a well oiled machine together. She couldn't risk it, couldn't throw a wrench in the gears for the sake of vengeance, even if she was screaming inside. The mage simply refused to go down and Howe was no match for Alistair. He would do away with him before she could say anything about it, and she would have failed in the final task her mother had given her.

Zevran appeared at her side, having dispatched the mage he and Morrigan were fighting, and before the caster could utter another word he buried his daggers into his spine.

Rhiann did not wait to see if he was truly dead, but whirled around just as Alistair ducked beneath the Arl's defenses and grabbed him. He wrested the sword from Howe's weakening grasp and tossed it aside with a clatter, before he shoved the dazed and bleeding man towards her. Arl Howe fell at her feet, broken.

Alistair met her questioning gaze for only a moment before turning away. "He's yours," he said quietly, and motioned for Zevran and Morrigan to follow him up to the hall.

At first Rhiann could only stare at the arl as he gasped and coughed up blood, unable to lift himself from the floor. For a year now his name had invoked the memory of a monster who had stolen her family from her. She had nearly forgotten, in her blind rage, that she knew his face, that it would be the same face that brought Thomas to visit when they were small and slipped them sweets at the table even after mother said no more. It was the face of her father's friend, the man whom he had trusted with his life.

His blood pooled in the stones around him, and she knew he was dying. He looked up at her, and for a moment she was nearly undone by the smoldering hatred in his gaze. "Maker spit on you," he rasped. "I deserved more."

She didn't answer. In one motion, she drew the small dagger at her belt and slit his throat.

He fell to the ground without so much as a whisper of breath, his eyes closing not in peace, but in denial that the girl he had allowed to live had brought this upon him.

She looked distastefully at the blood on her hands and absently wiped it away on her pant leg. She had expected to feel something, some sense of closure or release from the dread that had existed in her heart since the night her family died. All she felt was empty, the fire of her hatred dying away and leaving a cold cavity in its place.

Vengeance tasted like dust and ashes, and she walked out of the darkness of the room with a determined shake of her head, leaving the last part of what had made her Lady Cousland behind her forever.

-oOo-

Eamon was in the dining hall when he heard the noise in the yard that indicated the Wardens had returned from the alienage. It was confirmed when Rhiann appeared moments later, stealing into the room and shutting the doors quietly behind her.

"You found something?" he asked hopefully, judging by her demeanor.

She nodded, troubled. "Slaves." At his bewildered expression, she clarified, "Elven slaves. Loghain has been kidnapping members of the alienage and selling them to a trader."

"Maker's breath!" Even he had not considered that the teyrn would stoop so low. Yet he could not help but feel a thrill as well. This was what they had been waiting for – solid evidence of Loghain's treachery. "You brought back proof?"

"We did," she said, and handed him the precious stack of papers that would link Loghain to a practice that was considered an abomination in Ferelden. At least outwardly, Eamon corrected with a mental sigh. In reality, the citizens of the alienage were not considered much better than slaves, regardless. Yet the nobility would never admit as much.

The door slammed open and Alistair entered, his expression stormy as he yanked off his cloak. The Arl could not remember seeing him so agitated before. "Eamon, I need to speak to you," he said curtly as he stalked towards the study. "_Now_."

Arl Eamon took a moment to recover himself before turning back to Rhiann. "I take it he knows about these?" he asked, holding up the papers.

Rhiann nodded silently.

"I apologize, Warden, but I'm at a loss. I'm not as accustomed in dealing with Alistair's temperament as you are."

"Temperament?" she gave him a small smile. "That was _outrage_." Her smiled widened, gazing at the door like the man who had gone through it carried the center of her world with him. "I think he's finally ready to be a king."

-oOo-

The estate had grown quiet and still in the night hours. He had escaped to his room early, unwilling to partake in any more discussions or plans or strategies. The Landsmeet would be held the next day. If they weren't ready now, they never would be.

He couldn't sleep, either, and so had been standing at the window for a long time, watching the stars wheel in the sky.

He heard the soft exhale and the creak of the bed as Rhiann got up and came to him, pressing herself into the curve of his back.

"You're far away tonight," she murmured.

He didn't answer, but laced their fingers as her arms encircled his waist and bowed his head, accepting her comfort for what it was. He was scared, perhaps more terrified than he had ever been, and more thankful than ever that Rhiann didn't share his need to constantly fill every silence with talk.

With a long sigh he turned around and cupped her chin in one hand to bring her eyes to him. There was a question there, asking what he wanted her to do. In answer he bent his head and kissed her. She readily yielded to him, her mouth as hungry as his as he began to rid her of her clothes.

Their love making had a desperate edge that had never been there before. He couldn't stop touching her, his hands sliding over silky flesh as he tasted her throat, her breasts, repeatedly worshiping her body until her soft gasps became sultry moans that only drove him further. He needed to lose himself at least once more in this, in her touch and scent and the feel of her all around him.

Even a long time later, when their breathing had returned to normal and the unwelcome thoughts returned unbidden, he didn't pull away, instead propping himself on his elbows to look down at her.

"I won't lose you," he whispered roughly, his fingers threading through the hair splayed across the pillows.

She looked at him wistfully, but wouldn't feed him empty promises. Neither of them could know what would happen on the morrow.

"I don't want to lose you, either."

"You don't have to."

"Tell me something," she said softly, tilting her head a little to one side. "If not for me, would you really be so against this?"

He started to answer quickly, but the look she was giving him made him pause. She was more than curious. She was asking him what he _wanted_, what decision he was asking of her for the Landsmeet. The realization hit him hard, that in the end, Rhiann was ultimately leaving it up to him. She would forget Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan and everyone else and speak to put Anora on the throne, if he asked it of her.

He wanted to. He desperately wanted to blurt that he felt the same he always had, that his duty to the Wardens was more then enough to him. But somewhere in his mind's eye, he could see the refugees fleeing to Denerim because their lords had abandoned them, the poverty of the alienage that had been ignored to the point where the nation's capital hadn't noticed an illegal slave trade.

And he realized he couldn't tell her that.

She had known it, all along.

Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair. "You can't make this decision based on what may happen to us. There's too much at stake. You know what you have to do."

"And then what? I'll have some stranger shoved on me for the principle of the thing? I can't _do _that. I'll never love anyone but you, I promise."

A small frown appeared between her eyes, and she ran gentle fingertips over his face. "Don't promise me that. I would never hold you to it," she whispered. "Promise me you'll never love anyone the same _way_ you love me. That will be enough."

She lifted her head and kissed him, and he didn't know how to tell her that her argument was pointless. He belonged only to her.

Always.

-oOo-

Loghain looked at all of them in undisguised loathing as the clamor settled. Rhiann met his gaze steadily, giving him every impression that she had been confident all along that the nobles of Ferelden would clamor for Alistair to take the throne. Behind her, her companions stood like a wall of force, stoically supporting the Wardens they had followed through everything he had been able to throw at them.

Most of them anyway. Zevran _waved _at him.

"Concede," she told Loghain, and her voice carried in the silence.

She knew he would refuse. A man like Loghain would not give up his honor without a fight.

"Do we do this, or have you a champion?" he growled at her.

The words hung heavy in the air, poised like a sword over his head. Rhiann was confident that in any other circumstance, she would have faced Loghain alone. However, right now it was important – _essential – _that she stand aside. In the days to come, it was necessary that Ferelden did not think of _her_ when they remembered how the man she had helped brand as a traitor had fallen.

They were not putting a king on the throne based on any known merit, but on an ideal. If his rule were to succeed, he would have to begin his tale with the same awe that Maric had inspired. Reality had no place among the nobility or the history chronicles. Legend did. After winning it, _keeping_ their loyalty would be up to him.

For the good of Ferelden, Loghain had said again and again. They were regrettable but unavoidable casualties. Everything sacrificed was for the greater welfare of the nation. Though it galled her, she suddenly understood at least a measure of his thinking. His death would not bring them back, would not heal what he had done and would not serve any purpose except as a gesture, a confirmation of who was the stronger. Vengeance had no meaning to her after the mundane destruction of Arl Howe. This was just one more necessary evil, one more order that was left to her to make because no one else would do it.

For the good of Ferelden.

She turned to Alistair, and the sentence came calmly, quietly. "Make it quick."

With a curt nod, Alistair drew Maric's sword. The crowd fell back in hushed anticipation as he began to circle his opponent, his eyes burning.


	14. Chapter 14

Leliana was far too experienced in intrigue to let her emotions show, even when they gripped her around her chest and made it difficult to breathe. As Alistair and Loghain battled for the crown of Ferelden, it became clear early on that the fight would be a brief one. Loghain was strong still despite the years that weighed him down, but Alistair was his equal in skill, and he had youth and rage as his companions. As the former general fell to his knees in defeat, Leliana saw the hate in Alistair's eyes and her insides squirmed with grim certainty when she interpreted the intent there, but no one in the room could have seen the dread that shivered through her. Never would she have believed that Alistair – snarky, endearing Alistair – would calmly step forward and murder a man who was beaten. Even if that man was Loghain. Yet she watched, and his step didn't falter and his eyes didn't blink, and before the nobility of Ferelden Loghain's head parted company with his shoulders with one brutal slice of Maric's sword.

She was well aware of what her friends were, but still a knot formed in her chest as the room fell completely still, save for the sound of Anora's quiet sobbing. Leliana risked a glance at Rhiann, and saw the same hardened look in her eyes that had been present when she gave Alistair the order to kill the man. It was not a satisfied look, but one that blazed with steeled determination.

_They are killers_ Zevran had told her once. _**She**__ is a killer_.

Leliana had always sensed the air of destiny about these two, but it was not until recently that she saw it for what it was. She saw it when they had aided her in tracking down Marjolaine, and again when Alistair had thrown Arl Howe at his lover's feet in a grisly gift of retribution. The sense of duty that drove them was not built on honor or glory or any of the splendor of her many tales, but on justice. Justice that was cold and hard and unfeeling as the blades they wielded, an unfaltering walk of death that controlled their existence. Rhiann and Alistair may have had compassion and even mercy to temper that justice, but they could not escape it, could not deny it. Death was their trade, as surely as it had been Zevran's.

And yet they loved as well, she reminded herself as the noise level in the room picked up once again and Alistair was immediately reduced to his usual awkwardness even as the blood of his worst enemy dried on his hands. They loved perhaps more brightly and brilliantly than any of the rest of them were capable, precisely because of the darkness that shadowed their lives. The light that countered it seemed almost tangible sometimes, a beacon that the companions, that she, had followed without hesitation. She would continue to do so without qualms or regret, because she knew the good, honest people that existed beneath the Taint.

But she also knew, deep down, that she would never truly understand what it was to be a Grey Warden, and she was thankful.

-oOo-

As soon as she opened the door to the room where the others were waiting, Rhiann was nearly bowled over in a flurry of red hair and excited chatter. Leliana could barely contain her exuberance, speaking so rapidly it took a moment to sort out the flow of words.

"Rhiann! How could you keep such a thing from me? The queen of Ferelden! I had no idea you were even _considering_ marriage."

Rhiann twitched uncomfortably. She hadn't known they were considering it, either. "Leliana..."

"You will allow me to help with the planning, yes? A touch of elegance would not be amiss for a royal wedding. You will need someone like me, I am thinking."

"_Leliana_..."

"And I finally have the excuse I need to make you beautiful. There is a dressmaker here in Denerim who has a selection of the loveliest lace. Shopping! We must go shopping as soon as possible."

The doors slammed open before Rhiann could try to interrupt again. Alistair stood in the opening, his hands still braced on either side, eying her far more seriously than she would have liked. His stance seemed to get through to Leliana, who fell silent and gave Rhiann a questioning glance.

"So, strange story," Alistair began lightly, crossing his arms and cocking his head at her. "Tell me if you've heard this one – this fellow gets made king and then gets engaged, all in the same sentence."

The bard's eyes went wide as saucers and she gave Rhiann an incredulous look.

"I haven't exactly had time to talk to him about it yet," she admitted in a small voice. The confession rang in the quiet of the room, and Zevran and Oghren could not disguise distinct snorts of laughter. Wynne elbowed Oghren with a glare.

"Could I speak to Rhiann alone for a moment, please?" Alistair asked with perfect politeness. She swallowed nervously.

The others couldn't seem to clear out fast enough, though Rhiann noted that at least two pairs of curious feet seemed to linger just outside the door after Alistair shut it behind them.

He turned towards her, his arms crossed over his chest. She couldn't read his expression, which only added another dozen butterflies to her already fluttering stomach.

"I'm sorry," she blurted. "I probably should have talked to you first."

He raised an eyebrow at that.

"Okay, I _definitely_ should have talked to you first. But everyone was just _looking_ at me and I don't know, it just came to me. I thought if they trusted me enough to make the decision for them, then maybe..."

Her voice trailed off as his expression wavered, then he sighed and dropped his hands to his waist. Rhiann honestly thought she might go crazy.

"You know, saying _something_ might be good here."

Alistair finally looked back at her, his smile a little wistful, and she steeled herself. She knew what was coming – the Blight, the taint, the inability to produce an heir. The same concerns had been swirling around in her head since her rash declaration at the Landsmeet.

"Rhiann," he began very softly, and she closed her eyes. She wouldn't allow herself to cry, not in front of him. "I … Rhiann, will you marry me?"

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

He shifted his weight nervously, staring at the floor instead of at her. "I know it sounds silly, since its already been decided, but I have this ghastly feeling that if I just let it go like this you'll believe I'm only marrying you because you _told _me to. Even I know I'll end up regretting that later."

She could only stare at him.

"So," he said, and his nerves were getting the better of him as the surprise refused to let go of the hold it had on her tongue. "Will you? Marry me, that is?"

She felt herself nod dumbly.

Alistair still looked hesitant. "Is that a yes, then?"

She snapped out of her stupor and finally found her voice. "Of course that's a yes."

His smile was radiant as he closed the distance between them, and she giggled when he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her right off the ground to embrace her as if he was afraid she was going to turn and bolt at any second.

"You're sure? Even with the..."

"I'm sure," she cut him off and kissed him before he got the chance to say something stupid. He seemed to agree with this tactic – she could feel his answering grin against her lips and she wanted to crow in victory at his acceptance.

The door slammed open again, and Leliana and Zevran fell in with it, both crashing to the floor with a grunt. Wynne and Morrigan scowled at them from a good distance away, frowning in severe disapproval at the two rogues.

As if they hadn't been eavesdropping just as shamelessly.

Zevran coughed delicately and stood up, brushing himself off in a graceful attempt to salvage his dignity. "That latch may need repairing, friend Alistair. It does not appear to stand up to weight very well."

She only hugged Alistair tighter as the both of them burst into laughter.

-oOo-

"I am forced to admit, that was a rather brilliant stroke on your part," Eamon said thoughtfully as Teagan set a cup of tea before the Arl. The three men were spending the morning in the study, discussing last minute plans before the departure to return to Redcliffe. "I'm ashamed that I didn't think of it myself."

"So am I," Alistair muttered, chuckling a little to himself.

"The Landsmeet was perfectly willing to accept her as queen. The Couslands, after all, have quite a history, and her actions this past year have only strengthened that position. She will be a valuable asset in sustaining your rule."

"And you know, I'm rather pleased with the arrangement as well," Alistair said, a little dryly.

Eamon blinked at him, then gave him a paternal smile. "I didn't mean to take away from Rhiann. She is quite charming as well as lovely. I only meant to point out that she is also a very impressive woman. That is a good thing, if she is going to serve as queen. You don't need some empty headed dolt beside you in the days following the Blight."

"That's certainly true enough," Alistair acknowledged with a sigh. He wondered if Rhiann really knew what she had gotten herself into in agreeing to help him learn the intricacies of court life. He wasn't exactly the most devout pupil at the best of times, and he could already see himself getting frustrated far more easily with what he saw as utterly nonsensical details when they had far more important things to concern themselves with.

It was a good thing she loved him.

"And Alistair," Eamon interrupted his thoughts, sounding slightly more hesitant then before. "You _do_ realize that your betrothal became official when it was announced at the Landsmeet."

Alistair nodded, uncertain at what the Arl was getting at. They didn't really believe that he'd want to back out, did they?

"Therefore, in the eyes of both state and Chantry, Rhiann is quite legally your wife, though she will not be able to assume the duties of queen until your wedding."

"Yeees..."

Eamon rolled his eyes and Teagan stepped in to rescue him, his mouth twisting as if trying to suppress a smile. "So, perhaps you can stop providing the servants with gossip about your midnight strolls and simply have Rhiann move her things into your chamber once we return to Redcliffe. I'm sure even her brother cannot object, once he learns what happened here today."

"Oh, yes," Alistair cleared his throat. "I'll do that. I-" his embarrassment cooled and died as rapidly as it had come when Teagan's words sank in, and he felt his eyes widen. "Wait - what did you say?"

"Surely you don't need it spelled out for you further."

"No, not _that_ – what was that bit about her brother?"

"Fergus Cousland. You are familiar with him, I think? He should be in Redcliffe by the time we arrive."

"Fergus?" Alistair looked back and forth between the two men, disbelieving. "Fergus is _alive_?"

"Yes," Teagan appeared startled. "He sent word to us a week ago, barely recovered from his wounds and requesting shelter, though I do hope you intend to reinstate his lands, now that Arl Howe is dead." He looked at Arl Eamon, who shrugged. "Are you saying that Rhiann has no knowledge of this?"

"Of course she doesn't! We've been all over the kingdom, haven't we? Where was she supposed to pick up a post?"

Both men suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Alistair," Teagan apologized sincerely. "We had no idea she still thought him dead, or we would have told her immediately. He was wounded at Ostagar, but he survived. He has been with the Chasind all this time."

Alistair gave them one last wild grin before he jumped up and darted from the room, yelling as he ran down the hallway. "Rhiann!"

Eamon sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Do you think we have any hope of teaching him decorum one of these fine days?"

Teagan smiled. "I wouldn't wager on it."

-oOo-

"Rhiann!"

Rhiann glanced up from her reading, wondering what on earth had gotten into Alistair.

"Rhiann! Where the devil – oops, sorry, I didn't see you there – confound it woman, where are you?"

"I'm in here," she called, laughing. "Try not to kill anyone, would you?"

He burst into the room, practically bouncing with excitement. "Rhiann! I've just been with the Arl."

"Yes, I know," she said slowly. He was keeled over, trying to catch his breath. "Did he give you a cookie?" she asked dryly when no other explanation presented itself.

He made a face at her for that before blurting, "Fergus is alive."

Rhiann went completely still, sure she must have heard him wrong. "What are you talking about?"

He straightened up with a gulp of air. "He was wounded at Ostagar, but the Chasind cared for him. He's on his way to Redcliffe.

Rhiann's hands went suddenly cold as shock settled into every pore. "Alistair, are you sure about this?"

He nodded. "Arl Eamon just told me."

She stared at him for a moment, letting his words fight through the feel that she must be dreaming. Her joy came on a wave of tears and she began to cry. For the first time since she had began this journey she didn't try to fight them, instead covered her face with her hands and sobbed like a child as the hole in her heart that had fueled her hatred suddenly flooded with hope. Fergus, beloved Fergus. Oh _Maker_, she wasn't alone after all.

"Wait – no, no crying," Alistair objected, dropping to his knees in front of her. "This is a happy thing."

"I _am _happy," she wailed, and cried harder.

He only laughed and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple while she continued to weep against him. "I love you, you ridiculous woman."

-oOo-

The woman knew strategy, of that there was no question. Teagan listened closely as she sketched out a plan to reach Denerim as quickly as possible while keeping the darkspawn unaware of their approach. He remembered her as she had been as a girl, and though people had been profuse in their exclamations of her intelligence and potential, he doubted one of them could have predicted this hardened warrior that stood before him, her tone that of one who is accustomed to being obeyed.

"A forced march," she concluded. "The elves know the forests surrounding Denerim far better than any of us. Their Keeper has selected the best of their scouts to lead us."

There was quite a bit of grumbling to this notion, the nobles unwilling to trust their luck to a group of belligerent elves, but Rhiann silenced them with a look. "They have as much reason as we do to see this Blight ended."

No one could rightfully argue with that, and the grumbling ceased. As the war council dispersed Alistair put both hands on the table and glanced over the map of Ferelden. He was filthy from the road and the fight to reach the castle, his exhaustion apparent in the dark circles under his eyes. "How did we miss them?"

"I don't know," she replied, frustration clear in her voice. "We should have been there, waiting for them when the assault began."

"Just the two of us?" he asked with a touch of wry humor. "I think I prefer having this army we've scoured the countryside for at our backs, even if we do show up a bit on the late side."

She glared at him, but Teagan saw real affection in her gaze. "That's not what I meant. I just wish we could have known where they were going..."

Her voice drifted away as she stared at the open doorway. Teagan glanced up to see what had distracted her and saw a Fergus Cousland leaning on the frame. The man had apparently still had not fully recovered, to judge by his pallor and the way his clothes hung around him, like he had lost a significant amount of weight in a short time. Without a word Rhiann ran across the room and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck with such force they both nearly toppled over backwards.

"Fergus, I hope?" Alistair asked, but he was smiling widely at the sight.

"It is." Teagan watched as the siblings clung to each other, both speaking so quickly he doubted they could understand each other. "I'm pleased to see the Maker reward her a bit of joy throughout this."

"Reward?" Alistair laughed, brittle as the ashes on the wind over the ruined village. "I'd say it's about time the Maker noticed she's been working her ass off down here."

-oOo-

Rhiann and Alistair stood in the dimmed light of the hallway, simply looking at each other for a long time. Was it wrong, she wondered, to hope that your friend would die in a few days? Even if Riordan said he was ready for it, she couldn't silence that guilt that wormed in her stomach, that she should pray for someone she had come to greatly respect would fall in her place and spare her.

She should have known. She should have put the clues together long before this. Instead she had blithely gone on her way with ideas that she would be married soon and her brother was alive, and maybe she would come out of this Blight after all. She had ignored the lesson that had been hammered into her again and again, and each time the blow fell it came harder and left her feeling dizzy and a little sick, as if she had fallen from a great height.

Nothing came without a price.

"What's Morrigan doing in your room?" Alistair asked so suddenly it startled her, and he made a face, as if he regretted drawing her attention to the witch. Rhiann glanced into the chamber she hadn't planned on using and saw Morrigan standing by a roaring fire, apparently waiting for her. "I don't know." She turned back to Alistair with a shrug. "I guess I should see what she wants."

He started to give her his most exasperated look, but shook his head as if it wasn't worth the effort. "Don't be long," he said softly, squeezing her hand once before releasing it.

-oOo-

Rhiann shifted slightly, trying to wiggle her feet to return the blood to them as the unpleasant prickling sensation teased her leg. She needed to be alone, to think without interruption for a change, and it wasn't likely to happen with the castle in such a heightened state of frantic activity. She had done the only thing she could think of and shamelessly hid on the floor of a closet, her knees pulled to her chest so she could fit in the cramped space. It was rather fitting, she thought humorlessly, to literally place herself between a rock and hard place as she turned her options over in her mind.

She let her head fall back on the wall with a sigh and idly wondered if she felt like crying. Her eyes felt hot and dry and tears may be a relief, but she couldn't summon any. She still felt too numb with disbelief.

Alistair would be wondering where she was. If he only knew.

Could she ask this of him? Ask him to throw away his honor, to taint and darken all that she loved about him for the sake of their lives? Even if she could convince him to do it -

She sighed again, louder this time, as the knowledge came to her with a certainty that made her feel suddenly very, very tired.

He would do it.

She knew that without a doubt. He would bed Morrigan, if she asked him. He would be repulsed and horrified and would stammer uncontrollably in protest, but he would do it in the end, because she asked him to. But he would despise himself for it, for the act itself as well as knowing that he had succumbed to blood magic. She would have done that, taken the light of his soul and twisted it to her bidding. Could she do that to him? Perhaps he would agree more readily, knowing that it would save them both. Was she using his love as a weapon against him, or would he gladly accept the consequences to give them both a fighting chance?

Maker's breath, why – _WHY_ – was it always up to her?

The thought of refusing, however...

She shuddered. It was foolish to blindly believe that Riordan would be able to take that final blow. They would be fighting for their lives and keeping all of their hopes on the chance that all three of them would survive long enough to reach the archdemon. She couldn't afford such optimism, if she was to consider this offer seriously. In all likelihood, one of them would die before they could even find the archdemon. And then? It would only be the two of them, and Alistair would _never_ let her fulfill the grim task. She would be forced to stand by and watch him sacrifice himself. The darkness would swallow him – take his light away from the world.

From her.

She knew what had to be done. Still she remained where she was just a little longer, fighting against the fear the clutched her. For the first time in a very long time she began to pray, whispering the recited words of her youth in the dark of her hiding place and as the Chant fell like empty promises around her she abandoned it and began to plead, begging for guidance in her course. As the minutes passed she felt her resolution set in, the knowledge that she was doing the right thing warmed some cold part of her. Even then her voice continued to murmur against the shadows, laying her only request at the feet of Blessed Andraste - to grant her the courage to do it.


	15. Chapter 15

_In War, Victory_

The angry red glow reflected in a sky black with smoke as the city of Denerim burned around them. Rhiann and her friends pushed their way through the waves of darkspawn that crowded the once prosperous streets like blackened filth. Angrily they cut through the hoard, and though it seemed one fell with every swing of a sword or draw of a bow the clot never seemed to lessen, closing in on them with the stench of death and promise of mortality.

.

_Alistair sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was completely useless. He would never be able to sleep. He glanced out the window, wondering what could possibly be taking Rhiann so long. He was accustomed to waiting up for her at night with all that she was forced to deal with, but now the minutes seemed to fly by and he had never realized how painfully brief they really were, these limited minutes that were escaping him. He only wanted her to be here, beside him, and he would keep her there until they reached Denerim if he had to hold her in place and tell the entire army to deal with it. _

_He deserved that much, he decided. The notion that he would be king and have the woman he loved ruling beside him echoed as something to good to be true. If Riordan fell, he knew what had to be done, and he would make that sacrifice without hesitation, without regret. But before that moment came, he wanted to bask in what might have been, if only for a few days._

_The door finally opened and Rhiann shut it quietly behind her, hesitating for the barest moment before she turned around and faced him. He could immediately see something was very wrong – her eyes had a deadened look about them and her hair was mussed from repeatedly running her fingers through it._

_"What happened?"_

_She laughed, but it was strained and twisted, and her fingers slid through her hair again. "You truly have to ask?"_

_She had been pale but resigned when they left Riordan. Had that been for the elder Warden's benefit? No – that wasn't right. He was missing something – someone had done something - _

_Someone..._

_Morrigan. "Does this have anything to do with our resident witch loitering in your room?" he asked harshly. Maker help him, if that swamp hag had said one wrong word to her, made this night harder on Rhiann that it already was, she would burn. Rhiann wouldn't stand in his way this time._

_A shudder went through her body, and he knew he had found his mark. Before the onslaught began, however, she held up a hand and whispered words that caught him completely off guard._

_"Morrigan is gone, Alistair. She's left us for good."_

_._

Zevran was already exhausted, every bone and muscle aching as he wiped the sweat and blood from his face, and still the worst was yet to come. They surrounded their leader in the temporary reprieve, waiting for instruction. She looked as badly as he felt as she spoke to Riordan, her face stained with soot and tiny red dots where the burning thatch had blown into her face. Alistair was with her, dirty but otherwise fine, and for the briefest of moments Zevran envied the man his brute strength. The Wardens nodded in agreement and Zevran watched with avid curiosity, wondering what had been settled between them.

"Two groups," Rhiann said briefly, saving what breath she had left. "The gate has to be guarded against the remainder of the hoard. The others will come with me to the top of Fort Drakon. We're going to try to lure him."

The others nodded, grim but resolute, and once again Zevran found himself amazed at how readily these people were willing to die at her command. Rhiann kept her gaze straight ahead when she spoke again, deliberately not looking at Alistair.

"Wynne, Oghren, Sten – you're with me. The rest of you fall under Alistair's command here."

There was a few seconds of jolted shock as the words sank in for everyone, and for a moment Alistair looked truly terrifying. "_You're leaving me here_?"

Rhiann cringed at the furious tone. What had she expected? Zevran thought to himself. That the boy would meekly go and leave her to finish this? Even he knew better.

"Alistair, you heard Riordan. It's too risky if we go together."

"Risky for the three of us. He _told _you to take me with you."

"You know as well as I do that we've got a better chance of one of us reaching the Archdemon if we split up. Riordan knows it as well."

"_Save it, Rhiann,_" he shouted at her, and she tossed her hair and crossed her arms over her chest, her iron will rearing its ugly head in full preparation for this battle.

.

_There had been anger. Morrigan called her a fool and worse for not giving her what she wanted. But underlying it had also been frustration that Rhiann was not used to seeing from her, a kind of desperation in the golden eyes that was alien to her usual countenance._

_"Let me save you," she pleaded, her voice unsteady as the icy exterior melted away and revealed for one shocking moment a woman who didn't want to see the only person she had counted as a friend give her life over when there was another option._

_Rhiann had almost wavered, almost given in. She had thought herself hardened against the whisper of death that had followed her for the past year, but now the desire to live burned in her like a fever. She suddenly felt very young and very ordinary and she didn't __**want **__to die. She hovered on the brink of taking that plunge, but with a forceful shake of her head she willed the temptation away. _

_The price was too high. She could not pay it._

_She hoped that Morrigan would be able to forgive her, in time. She very much doubted it, though._

.

"You're the only one I trust to lead the other group," Rhiann argued quietly when it became apparent the shouting match between she and Alistair was only going in circles neither was willing to break away from. The abrupt change in tactic left Alistair off balance and he didn't have time to form a proper retort before she threw a gem of irrefutable logic between them. "Alistair, this area has to be secured behind us or _none_ of us will make it to the tower. We'll be searching for the generals in the meantime. Once that threat is dealt with you can join us."

Zevran could see the struggle occurring within him. She almost had him convinced, but at the last moment his expression hardened and he shook his head at her. "There's no way I'm going to let you just go in there and..."

"You _will_!" she demanded, and the authority in her voice startled Alistair to silence. Rhiann had run out of control. Couldn't the fool see that she didn't want to do this any more than he did? Couldn't he see how _hard_ it was for her? Her voice was harsh now, and she was every bit the Grey Warden as she stepped up to him, her face inches from his. "You _will_ take the others and hold the gate and that's a _fucking order_!" The last words were accentuated further when she shoved him towards the remaining party members.

Alistair had never appeared so furious, turmoil raging within him as he was torn in half between duty and devotion and he and Rhiann glared each other down. Zevran could tell the exact moment that he realized that she was right, the moment when common sense won out over every other instinct he possessed.

He unceremoniously pulled her aside, gripping her arms hard. "You let Riordan do what he needs to do, do you hear me?"

"I will," she said weakly, the fight flown from her now that she had his acquiescence.

Alistair's hands went to either side of her face, and his touch was desperate, not at all gentle. "Rhiann – please – be careful. _Please_…" his voice faltered and he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes shut tight against the gathering emotion. "You _have_ to come back to me."

For the first time in his life, Zevran felt like he was intruding on something that was none of his business. He turned away.

"Alistair," Riordan said gravely. "A contingent of men are awaiting your orders. Once this area is under control take them and clear the city. The darkspawn will likely try to flee once the archdemon is slain and I would see as many of them killed as possible before they can make it back underground."

Alistair nodded in agreement. Riordan took an ivory horn from his belt and handed it to the new king. "That will signal any of our forces in the area. If you get overwhelmed, call for aid."

"Won't the two of you need them more?"

Rhiann and Riordan looked at each other, and Zevran's mouth twisted in disgust, well aware of what was coming.

"It is more important that you live through this," Riordan said levelly. "If we should fall, take the others and head for the rooftop, but you will only take the killing blow as a last resort."

Alistair seemed inclined to argue, but checked himself, biting his tongue. Zevran knew that he had absolutely no intention of following that order, and he felt himself relax. For all his faults, Alistair would never allow Rhiann to sacrifice herself.

There was nothing more to be said, and Riordan left them.

.

_Zevran could only stare at her, praying that his was some sort of horrid misunderstanding. How did they even know what this Riordan said was true? They had no knowledge of him, no proof that he was the Grey Warden he claimed to be._

_But she was calm and serious, and he saw weary acceptance in her eyes. There was only one thing left for her to ensure before the battle, and she was trusting it to him._

_"I have done everything you have asked of me, have followed you miles across the kingdom and back," he said quietly, at war with himself, trying to convince himself that he could turn her away and not burden himself further. He owed her nothing. _

_She only looked at him, waiting more patiently that he could expect for his response, and Zevran knew that he had been doomed from the beginning. He could not deny her. He pulled her closer and she did not resist, allowed him to wrap her in his arms in a grip that was nearly painful. "And this last mile, I travel with you," he murmured against her hair. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced the next words past the knot in his throat. "You have my promise, bella."_

_He could feel the tension dissolve from her and she went soft in his arms, her body trembling. Zevran loosened his hold a bit but did not let her go, letting her sob her relief against him. For a long time she clung to him, releasing all the emotions that she had been afraid to show Alistair. Zevran said nothing, simply held her and let her use him as a substitute for her oblivious Templar. _

_It was a place he knew all too well. _

.

Alistair glared down at the horn in his hand after she had gone, turning it over and over. Zevran and Leliana glanced at each other, wondering what they could say that would break him from this morbid trance and remind him that Riordan still intended to do all he could to save them. His dark scowl gave them hesitation, though, because no matter how many times they had seen him sulking or angry they were unsure how volatile Alistair would be when he was truly _furious_.

Suddenly he flung the horn against the wall with such force that it shattered, spraying all of them with shards. Leliana let out a little yelp of surprise.

"_What_?" he demanded when they stared at him, wide eyed. "_Get your asses to the gate!_"

They scrambled to do as he said.

-oOo-

_In Peace, Vigilance_

Zevran had moved past the worst weariness he had ever known, but in his exhaustion his mind had shifted to a dream-like simplicity, narrowed to _lunge_ and _stab_ and _duck _rather than dwelling on things like pain. The darkspawn continued to fall before them, and when the stream ended he felt dazed, looking around at the pile of corpses in disbelief.

The archdemon soared overhead, mocking any sense of relief he felt, it's unholy cry shaking the very air around them as it swooped around the roof of the tower, apparently drawn to Riordan's lure. Another wave of the fiends approached the gate, and Zevran was forced to pull his gaze away as they were once again fighting, Alistair's shouted orders ringing above the din while the militia surged forward to meet the threat.

Zevran broke through the crowd to engage the caster, throwing a fistful of dirt in the demons eyes as he fell on him with all the ferocity he could muster. He _needed_ to know what was happening at Fort Drakon, and he was renewed by the raw fury that coursed through him at these creatures who were keeping him from it.

The caster gasped his last and crumbled just as the archdemon let out another bloodcurdling roar, and Zevran whirled around, frantic hope rising in him when he spotted Riordan clinging to its back. But Riordan had missed his mark, the archdemon was shaking him loose, and he could not possibly hold on...

In horror, he watched the Grey Warden fall, disappearing from the world in a cloud of ashes and smoke.

She was alone.

Zevran sought out Alistair, pleading with whatever god would listen that he had noticed, that he had felt it through the unnatural ability that bound the Wardens. Surely Rhiann could not blame him this way – he could not possibly tackle the man and hold him down. When he saw Alistair do nothing, Zevran realized that the darkspawn were flooding out his ability to sense the others, and that any connection that remained in the chaos was centered solely on Rhiann.

It was falling into his hands, this decision he had not wanted to make. Falling against the promise he had made to her. In that instant, Zevran almost called out. He wanted to shout, to warn them that she was going to die. They had to do _something_ – the worthless ex-Templar could take her place. He would do it, Zevran knew. He would be out of the way, and she would live. But a voice – _her_ voice – froze the cry in his throat.

_Protect him with your life._

He didn't want to care. Alistair would be the first to agree with him – if he knew Riordan had failed and he would lead the charge into the city, orders and kingship and duty be damned. He would _save_ her.

And Rhiann would never, ever forgive him.

_You have my promise, bella_.

And what would he be, if he broke the only promise he had given her? Just a killer – the assassin she had inexplicably spared that day. In the space of a few heartbeats, Zevran saw it all very clearly. She had cared about him, trusted him, called him her friend. If he could not keep this last promise to her, he was unworthy of all of it, unworthy of her. He would lose her anyway, and she would hate him for it.

Either option was too much to bear.

He swallowed the words that would draw Alistair's attention, and with unconsecrated fury he turned on the remaining darkspawn, uncaring of the wounds he took as he tore through their ranks, and his breath came in harsh, angry gulps while the tears blinded him.

-oOo-

Rhiann saw Riordan fall, and the world seemed to move in slow motion around her. She watched, helpless, as the Warden succumbed to an almost graceful arc and plummeted down, down into the ravages of Denerim. Sound became muffled and distorted against the buzzing in her ears, and in the midst of the pain and heat and death she had a single moment of silence, of peace. She had made this choice, and she would stand by it.

Unsure if Alistair had seen, she turned to the others and ordered, "Make for Fort Drakon! The archdemon is down!"

Her voice was clear and strong despite her trembling and her run was steady on feet suddenly turned to lead. They didn't see that she was alone and terrified, only saw a Grey Warden rushing towards her target, marking her kill.

It was better that way, she thought. There was no place in this hellish nightmare for Rhiann Cousland.

-oOo-

The last of the darkspawn fell before the gate to the city and Alistair didn't stop to feel relief. He could hear the bellows of the archdemon trumpeting from the rooftop and he sought out Leliana and Zevran, who had fallen to sit on the cold ground in sheer exhaustion. "We're going to the tower."

Leliana nodded and shoved herself to her feet, but Zevran only stared at him, his eyes bleary and unfocused. The assassin gazed at him almost pleadingly, before he let his head drop without a word.

"Fine, _stay_ then," Alistair snapped, and turned around only to meet resistance in a wall of steel. The militia had surrounded him, blocking his exit.

"Get out of my way," he grit out, but the guards stood firm, blocking his path. "Your Majesty, we can't let you. We have orders to keep you from the fortress."

His grip on his sword tightened, and he saw Leliana fit an arrow to her bow as Zevran struggled to his feet. He didn't want to kill these poor loyal bastards, but Maker help him, if they didn't let him through the only thing he would regret was the time he wasted fighting through them.

The decision was taken from him as Aiden suddenly lunged between king and guards, snarls ripping from his chest and teeth bared. He was a terrifying sight, his muzzle soaked with blood and his ears flat against his head, and they fell back, unnerved, just long enough for Alistair to slip through. One brave fellow tried to step around the animal and narrowly missed losing a hand.

"Good boy – keep them there!" Alistair called over his shoulder, and started at a run for Fort Drakon, Leliana and Zevran close behind him.

-oOo-

The archdemon's tail whipped around and Rhiann cried out when Wynne was thrown back, landing hard and skidding several feet across the cold stone. She did not get up.

The dragon's head reared, rising high over his attacker as it prepared to lunge at Rhiann, its teeth snapping. She did not move, but met the challenge with her feet planted. At the last minute she raised her swords, and the dragon's momentum was too great to stop. It impaled itself, her blades biting deeply into the underside of its neck. Blood rained down on her and as the head jerked back her weapons were torn from hands slick with gore. In rage at this tiny creature who had managed to inflict such agony, the archdemon swung blindly with its powerful front arm and Rhiann only just missed getting out of the way. She felt the burn of a claw raking across her middle and she was hurdled back against the stone wall.

She tried to get up, but a shriek escaped her at the agonizing sear of bone grinding on bone. Nearby, the archdemon collapsed from its grievous wound, but it may as well been miles from her.

Tears coursed down her face as she gasped and tried to drag herself to her knees, but her body refused to obey her and she collapsed, sobbing in frustration and agony.

She had failed.

-oOo-

_In Death, Sacrifice_

Alistair sprinted up the long corridor on burning legs with his lungs near to bursting as he took the stairs three at a time. Leliana and Zevran stumbled along behind him, more exhausted than they had ever been but unable to let themselves to stop, Alistair's terror that they would be too late driving them when they would have fallen. There came more stairs, and dead bodies surrounded them, cluttering the floor like a grisly carpet. Still he ran, nearly slipping in the mess but catching himself and pushing forward with every ounce of strength he possessed.

He had to find her. It was the only thought he allowed himself as the rooftop came within sight.

The door was open, revealing the bloody battle, the screams of the dying and clash of steel, and above it all the roar of the dragon. Without pause he dashed for the opening, drawing his sword as he ran, his mind swimming with hysteria when he realized he could no longer feel Riordan.

-oOo-

Rhiann raised herself to her hands and knees, every breath a stabbing gasp of agony. The stone was slick beneath her with her own blood. It ran from the wound in her belly that she was frightened to look at, broke on her lips in grisly bubbles.

She knew, with calm, cold clarity, that she was dying anyway.

And then she felt _him_, nearing, coming to her rescue. She could feel his desperation, the strain that burned him as he raced to reach her in time.

"No."

She gathered her remaining strength and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the screams of pain in her body. With the last bit of life in her, Rhiann stumbled to the floundering body of the archdemon, pulling the sword embedded in a nearby corpse as she went. One great eye rolled up at her, defiant, and yet there was fear there as well. She gripped the sword in both hands.

Alistair...

_Oh Alistair, I'm so sorry_...

With the last of everything she had left, she plunged the blade through its skull.

The pain was worse, so much worse than she could have imagined. It ripped at the core of her being. The darkness flooded through her like a tainted river, drowning her in its thick, murky depths. Yet from within a small flame awoke as the intangible part of her began to fight back. Her eyes opened, and the world was filled with sunlight and the smell of the sea. Through the haze of pain she saw Highever, but not as she remembered it. It was richer and more wonderful, the waves crashing against the cliffs in sparkling blue green and its fields covered with splays of roses. As her soul fought against the darkness that pervaded her, she reached out for her childhood home. The darkness was great and terrible, and combated to hold her back, but it was weakening, losing its grasp on her.

Still dimly aware of the sword clutched in her hands, she concentrated on Highever, on keeping the sword grasped within her dying fingers.

If she held on, she could make it.

She could go _home_.

Her body began to tremble and shake, and the light exploded forth from her, devouring what was left of the tainted soul that had tried to use her as a vessel. She was floating, further and further down into a peaceful and dreamless sleep. There was darkness, and a brilliant flash, and then the pain was gone, a mere ghost of a memory.

And Oren was running across rose covered fields to greet her.

-oOo-

The entire city rocked with the explosion. Alistair lost his footing and was slammed into a wall by the force of it as the blast blinded him, bursting forth through the doorway and throwing all three of them to the ground.

And he _knew_. The taint, the connection, gave him terrible insight.

In that instant, his chest felt as if it had been ripped open and laid bare with loss, and horrible disbelief drowned every ounce of his being, wrapping him in a blanket of numbness as his mind refused to accept it.

She was gone.

He pushed himself to his knees, staring at the smoldering ruin that remained of the rooftop. Those fighters left standing began to cry out, to sob and hug each other as the darkspawn fled the field. A handful of the fleeing demons were coming straight for him, and he didn't move. He watched them almost curiously, refusing to rise, welcoming, in that moment, the oblivion they promised before pain and guilt could snake through and devour him.

Arrows whistled around him, dropping the darkspawn as they ran, cutting off their retreat.

Someone was pulling on his arm. Barely aware of his surroundings, he tried to shrug it off.

"Please, Alistair, get up," Leliana was sobbing. "Zevran, help! He'll get trampled."

A few seconds later, stronger hands grasped his arm. "Come, my friend. It is too late. You cannot help her now."

Cracks appeared in the shield and the pain that trickled through was too much, far too much. In fury he whirled on the filthy assassin, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him down to his level, prepared to break the murderer's neck with his bare hands. He froze at the site of Zevran, whose tears were running unchecked down his face, his genuine pain visible for all to see. "Alistair," Zevran's voice had become harsh and grated in his grief, and there was anger and disgust in the elf's eyes. "Do not _belittle_ what she has done. _Get up_."

The world came rushing back to reality with sickening intensity. A wail rose within him and he choked on sobs that couldn't escape the tightness in his chest. He would suffocate on anguish, unable to remember how to breathe.

She had taken any reason to breathe with her.

He would have collapsed if not for Zevran's support, the assassin clutching him, pulling him to his feet and steadying him in an embrace born of despair that supported them both. The vice around his chest burst open and a voice that he did not recognize as his own rose to a keen, an animal howl of pure heartbreak and rage at Fate and Time and their irrevocable march forward.


	16. Chapter 16

Alistair had learned at Ostagar that death did not come swiftly for those left behind. Losing someone did not happen all at once, a blow that could be faced and dealt with and healed. It came in stages, each smaller loss a reopening of the larger wound. He lost Rhiann repeatedly in the months that followed. In the empty space beside him during his coronation. On the night when Zevran slipped away, heralding the end of the ragtag family they had held together. When the scent of lilac began to fade from her clothes and belongings.

It seemed he was barely able to draw a breath before he was hurled into a life of politics and crushing responsibility. The country that they had fought so hard to save was left in ravages from the Blight. Alistair had not thought it would possible to miss Rhiann _more _than he did in the days following the fight with the archdemon, but as the reality of the kingship fell upon him, he suddenly missed her in new ways that his broken heart had not taken into consideration.

He needed her. He needed her experience and common sense, her way of speaking to him and making him _think _before rushing into rash decisions. He needed someone he trusted, who could listen to him complain without weighing the consequences. He was left alone to learn the hard lessons of intrigue and appearances and a million other things that threatened to undo everything. Any weakness he indulged in was met with panic. There was no room for his pain, no sympathy for his grief. They needed a leader, someone who could heal the blighted country and present a brave face while doing so.

He finally felt that he understood Rhiann better than he ever had before.

The worst time was in the evening, that hour just before dusk when they had joined each other by the fire in dozens of nameless camps, laughing or joking about whatever kind of day was behind them. As the night gathered and darkened his empty bedchamber he would lie and stare at the ceiling, haunted by the final moments of that last battle. He replayed the images in his tormented mind, finding every mistake he made, and each time he saw it again he was a little bit smarter, a little bit faster. He saved her again and again, in hundreds of different ways. The process brought him no comfort, and his misery would overwhelm him and follow him into his dreams, because no matter how he wished differently, it always ended the same way - with her blood on his hands while he cradled her broken body on a barren rooftop.

And he wondered, as time trudged on and he took up the crown that was even heavier than he had imagined, if he would ever be able to forgive her


	17. Chapter 17

_**Three Years Later**_

Alistair mentally called Eamon every filthy name he could think of and a few he could make up on the spot, but he was sure his expression didn't give him away. If he had learned anything in his three years on the throne, it was how to hide the emotions that tended to send his advisers into lengthy, panicky lectures that bored him to no end and always left him with the urge to throw things. So instead he bit his tongue and allowed Arl Eamon to sing the praises about the woman waiting for them in the study. Lena was intelligent, well loved by her people and friendly. She was exceptionally lovely, as well, with bright green eyes and hair the color of ripened wheat. He knew he could have done much worse in terms of an arranged marriage.

Not that it made the prospect of one any more appealing.

Alistair had managed sidestep the issue of marriage much longer than he would have anticipated. The past years had kept him busy enough to make a reasonable excuse for putting off the flood of noble daughters shoved his way with decreasing subtlety.

In that time he had adjusted to his role as king, though his unorthodox means had left the Bannorn floundering for a while, wondering how to react to this new ruler. His position as a Grey Warden combined with his actions at the Landsmeet had gained him the reputation of a warrior willing to punish those who wronged him, an image that was only strengthened further when the lords who had abandoned their holdings during the Blight were stripped of title and land within the first year of his reign. Eamon had counseled against that decision, spouting warnings of rebellion, but for the first time Alistair had put his foot down, refusing to budge on the matter. It was a turning point, he supposed, marking the moment where he had decided to become a king rather than a puppet to those who had put him there.

Wynne and Oghren alone remained of his traveling companions, steadfast in their desire to remain where they were needed as well as their friendship with him. Alistair honestly didn't know if he would have made it through that first year without them, when his grief and rage were open wounds and the temptation to hurl himself out a window began to look more and more like an option.

Oghren had taken up place as the first dwarven captain of the royal guard, and though it took more than one cracked skull for the soldiers to adjust to taking orders from him he was respected, despite his tendency to send the castle into a mad panic when he helped the king sneak out on occasion for a drink at the local tavern. These midnight outings combined with a fair sense of judgment and the return of his sense of humor had made Alistair a popular ruler, someone to be respected but well loved. It still amazed him.

But now that the land was at peace again and on its way to healing, he could no longer silence his advisers from pushing him to secure his throne. Cailan had died without an heir, and they were frantic that the same mistake not be repeated. His patience with them was rapidly evaporating, and more than once he had caused a scandal by sending some of the most powerful men in Ferelden scurrying like frightened children in the wake of his reaction to demands that he marry.

"Alistair," Wynne finally told him one day with deliberate patience, stepping over the broken crockery that had smashed against the hastily closed door. "You could at least meet with some of these prospects. No one is forcing you to make a decision now."

He knew she was right, knew they were _all_ right. He had a limited time due to his shortened lifespan, even if he was fortunate enough to avoid the swing of a sword with his name on it one day, and Ferelden needed an heir. His objections to marriage were purely selfish and so he did not voice them, but everyone knew. It didn't matter how pretty or intelligent or friendly this Lena was.

She would never be _her_.

He was startled from his dark musings by a loud bark. Aiden came bounding up to him as soon as he opened the door of his office to head study where he would finally meet this bride to be. The dog was in a state of wild excitement, and promptly grasped the cuff of his sleeve in careful teeth and tried to pull him away.

"Hey, knock it off, you ruddy mutt," Alistair scolded, snatching his hand back. "If you slobber on me you'll send my staff into hysterics."

The dog barked again, dancing in place for a moment before he dashed a few steps down the hallway, then abruptly turned and looked back at him expectantly. Alistair obligingly looked, but the hallway was empty except for a maid scrubbing the floor at the far end.

"I can't follow you now. I'm busy."

Aiden whimpered and trotted a few more paces, still watching him. He began to tell the dog that he would just have to wait when he got a better look at the woman in the hall. Her back was to him and she was hunched over her work, hiding her face, but there was something annoyingly familiar in the set of her shoulders and the way she moved that made him pause.

"Your Majesty, I thought we agreed that the dog wouldn't run freely while our guests were here," Eamon said wearily behind him, recapturing his attention.

Alistair just avoided rolling his eyes at him.

The mabari had very nearly succumbed to grief after losing his mistress. He was certain the animal would have died if left to his own devices, but for unknown reason, Aiden had found purpose in tending to Alistair. He began sleeping in his room, waking him from the worst of his nightmares with rough pawing that was well intentioned, if slightly painful. Alistair had some distant recollection that some of the dogs at Ostagar had managed to recover from loss and eventually chose a new master. He wasn't sure if that's what happened here, but regardless, the animal was one of the few tangible things he had left of her.

"No, _you_ said he shouldn't be left roaming around, and I believe I _ignored _you. Besides, the grounds are all muddy with the thaw. Would you rather he tracked dirt all over the castle?"

The arl did not answer, apparently deciding it prudent to choose his battles. Sensing victory, Alistair aimed a half-hearted kick at the dog, ignoring his whine of protest. "Go on, beat it. And behave yourself."

-oOo-

Alistair was relieved to reach the sanctuary of his apartments later that evening. To his chagrin, Eamon followed him, determined to get a confirmation before he let him escape. He did his best to ignore the persistent man, instead speaking Oghren, who had been following along at a distance. "Get rid of these people. I need to think."

Oghren nodded and raised his voice so the handful of servants as well as the guards could hear him. Alistair never went anywhere without a crowd anymore.

"Alright you lot, out! He's gotta learn to dress himself eventually. Go on, get!"

They obeyed immediately, though Alistair could hear the two guards stationing themselves outside of his room. He ground his teeth in frustration. Without looking at Eamon he stormed into his bedchamber and kicked open one of the trunks there, tossing clothes over his shoulder until he found a shirt of plain linen.

Oghren returned, rubbing his chin and looking around the mess. "Guess I was a little optimistic about the dressing yourself part."

"Lena is a lovely girl, isn't she?" Eamon prompted, paying no attention to the dwarf.

"Lovely," Alistair answered without enthusiasm. He pulled the uncomfortable shirt they had stuffed him into for this meeting over his head with more force than necessary and was grimly satisfied to hear the fabric rip. "I'm not going to argue the point."

"You'll agree to this marriage, then?"

"I've already told you that I would."

"Splendid! We had in mind to make the announcement as soon as possible and get the planning under way. By the end of the month..."

"That's far too soon."

Eamon sighed. "It's been three years, Alistair. The Landsmeet is beginning to worry. The crown of Ferelden must be secured."

"Really?" he snapped, yanking the new shirt down. "That notion escaped me the first hundred times you mentioned it. But I think it's starting to sink in now."

"I simply don't see any reason to put it off longer, if you're of a mind to remedy the problem..."

"It's _too blasted soon_."

"Hey, back off a little, Arl," Oghren interrupted, frowning. "He said yes, didn't he?"

"He has an obligation..."

"Don't speak to me about my obligations," Alistair snarled. "I _know_ them. Haven't I done every wretched thing that was expected of me?"

The arl did not answer at first, and Alistair went back into the reception chamber and flopped down into a chair. He wasn't even sure what he was feeling right now, but he didn't like it.

Eamon regarded him with sympathetic eyes as he carefully weighed his next words. "She did not sacrifice herself so that you could give up on living," he said quietly.

His vision webbed red and for a moment it was hard to breathe. The arl was no amateur when it came to getting what he wanted, but never had Alistair anticipated that he would draw that particular weapon. "Eamon," Alistair said slowly through the haze of anger, and he was amazed at how even his voice remained. "Don't speak to me of Rhiann. _Ever_."

However the words had affected his adviser, Alistair was not going to find out through a change in expression or stance. He was far too good at disguising his emotions for that. He merely gazed back steadily, giving an obedient bob of his head. "As you wish, my liege."

Alistair sank deeper into the chair and let his head fall back as Eamon left, heaving an enormous sigh. Oghren took the seat across from him, wordlessly handing him a small amber bottle.

He glanced at it for a moment with a raised brow. "This isn't going to make me blind, is it?"

The dwarf gave a deep rumble of laughter. "Does it matter?"

"Not really," he muttered and took a long swallow.

"Don't much see why you let that blowhard boss you around anyway," Oghren said after a moment. "Isn't that the point of being king?"

"Apparently the only point to being king is to provide the next king," Alistair mumbled and took another swig.

-oOo-

_"I'll never love anyone but you, I promise."_

_A small frown appeared between her eyes, and she ran gentle fingertips over his face. "Don't promise me that. I would never hold you to it," she whispered. "Promise me you'll never love anyone the same way you love me. That will be enough."_

_She lifted her head and kissed him, and he didn't know how to tell her that her argument was pointless. He belonged only to her._

_Always._

Alistair woke up with a jolt, tears stinging his eyes. It had been so long since he wept for Rhiann, he hadn't thought he had anything left. His upcoming wedding was picking away at the scab over his heart before it was healed, reawakening the burning pain just as he had begun to stop feeling it. He shivered in the dark, his skin broken out in a cold sweat as he fought to steady his breath. The dream had been so real that for a moment he thought he could detect the subtle hint of lilacs. He shuddered all over, throwing the blankets back.

He could not _do_ this. It felt too much like another failure on his part. Like _betrayal_.

His mind made up, he began collecting the few things he would need. He got dressed in the simplest of his clothes, grateful that they would be covered anyway as he dug around in a chest for a chainmail shirt of dwarven make. All of his old armor was in storage and he had no desire to alert the castle that he was up to anything. The sword belt he had once worn was in his chamber, though, and as he put it on he cringed a bit at the snug fit. It had been a while since he was forced to travel without the comforts of carriages and a dozen armed men.

At that he paused. His sword was in the next room, but the guards on the other side of the door might walk in if they heard him moving around in there. His gaze fell on the low chest that he kept shoved underneath his bed. He hadn't had the nerve to open it in three years, but he supposed now was a good a time as any.

Everything was just as he left it. Her journal was there, and he saw the very tip of a petal of the rose he had given her, pressed forever within its pages. Her betrothal brooch was there as well, as were the matching blades she had carried. He held the longsword like a holy talisman, carefully inspecting it for signs of wear. The enchantment was still strong on it – the blade was as shiny and clean as if it had been put there yesterday. Slowly, he sheathed it at his side, fighting back a new wave of threatening tears.

It was time to go.

He couldn't help but wonder how the historians would chronicle a reign that ended with the king sneaking out of his bedroom window.

Alistair pulled back the curtains and was instantly met with two simultaneous shocks. One was the face in the window – the other was the realization that he _knew_ the face the window. That was as far as he got before a fist connected with his jaw, knocking him to the floor.

"You know, your castle is not well guarded," Zevran said conversationally as he swung into the chamber.

Alistair scrambled to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Zevran chuckled, that irritating, condescending sound that always managed to make Alistair long for violence of some kind.

"Have no fear, my old friend. I came only to talk."

He wasn't about to take his hand off of that sword hilt, if that was the elf was getting at. The shock of Zevran suddenly standing here, right in front of him, was too much to be real. He hadn't heard so much as a whisper from the bastard since he had slunk out of the castle without telling anyone. Now he said he wanted to _talk_? "And you thought that sneaking into my bedchamber in the dead of night was the best way to go about that, did you?" he finally managed to ask.

"Of course." A flame sparked, and now Alistair could clearly see the face of the man he had been forced to count as a companion three years ago. "Who am I to request audience with the king of Ferelden? No one. I have taken great care these years to remain no one." Zevran lit a few candles, then turned to face him. For a moment they looked each other over, noting the differences time had made. Alistair was surprised by how much a few years seemed to have aged the elf. His hair was longer and was not oiled and styled with the care that had annoyed Alistair to no end, but pulled into an untidy ponytail at the back of his head. His cloak and boots were of plain make and splattered with mud from his travels.

"You should take more care to ensure no one gets in this way again," Zevran finally said, breaking the silence and gesturing to the window.

"Believe me, I _am_ kicking myself."

"You are not pleased to see me?"

His fist flew without warning and the assassin hit the floor with a grunt.

"I suppose I deserved that," Zevran muttered into the carpet. He stood up, gingerly touching his fingers to his lips. They came back with a smear of blood. "Somehow I always seem to forget how quickly you can move for such a large specimen."

"What do you _want, _Zevran?"

"I wanted to stop you from climbing out of the window, naturally."

Alistair didn't truly have a response to that. Zevran smiled at his silence. "You have grown much in your time as king, my friend, but in many ways you are still woefully predictable. When we learned that you were to be married soon, we knew it was only a matter of time before you tried to escape."

"We?"

"Leliana and myself. She is guarding the hallway. We were not entirely certain which route you would take, of course."

"Leliana is here as well?" Alistair shook his head at his own stupidity. "The maid – I _knew_ she looked familiar."

Zevran nodded. "Chantry or no, Leliana is _wonderfully _talented. She has been here for some time without your detection. Although, I must admit, we had both quite overlooked the dog. We did not realized he had survived, you see."

At that the chamber door nudged open and Aiden entered. He trotted past Zevran without a second glance and jumped up onto the bed, curling up to sleep. Alistair cast an accusing glare at the slumbering mabari. "You knew about this all along, didn't you?"

The dog did not deign to answer.

"So then what, you two decided you were going to stop me?" Alistair asked the elf, crossing his arms in front of him.

"Hinder you, more like. Come, come, Alistair. We both know that you wouldn't have made it two days before your damnable sense of honor turned you around again. By then the story would be on the lips of every citizen in Ferelden. Your future queen would be shamed and your ability to rule would be in question. And that would be a very sad thing. You have done splendidly thus far. So all I have truly done is rescue you from a royal headache, no?"

Alistair glowered, completely unwilling to admit Zevran was probably right. "I don't remember asking for your concern," he said moodily.

"And yet you have it, and it is yours to bear regardless." Zevran looked down, sighing as he made a show of dusting some of the dirt from his cloak. "It was what _she _wanted, you know."

Rage towards the assassin Alistair had thought long since buried flared up in him. "You knew her so well, did you?"

"Obviously better than yourself."

Alistair swung again, but this time Zevran was ready for him and calmly ducked the blow. "No, my friend, therapeutic as it may be for both of us to beat each other bloody, I have little desire to be hunted down as the man who killed the king of Ferelden."

Alistair snorted. Zevran shrugged in answer. "As you will then. I have less desire to _die_ here."

Slightly mollified and feeling a little childish at what was quickly resembling a tantrum, Alistair eyed Zevran curiously and forced himself to focus. "So why this sudden desire to help me? You don't even _like_ me."

Zevran laughed mirthlessly. "Do not disparage yourself so. For a very long time, I _hated_ you." He said this so matter-of-factly that Alistair was taken aback. Zevran nodded to stress his point. "It's true, I'm afraid. In all the years I delivered death, never did I _yearn_ for it. Never had I wanted to kill someone, with everything in me, until we found her atop that tower, you and I."

Alistair's eyes narrowed and his hand again went inadvertently to the hilt of his sword. Zevran simply make a scoffing sound and waved the precaution away. "Do not trouble yourself. I am over it now, as it were. You see, I realized something, before I came here. For a long time I blamed you, thinking that you should have fought harder, should have been more insistent on following her, her orders be damned." He gave Alistair a crooked smile. "But it was my own downfall as well, no? For all of us, even the qunari. We did as she asked, without question. Even...even when it went against everything we knew to be true."

Zevran's voice quavered slightly at the end of this little speech, but he rallied and flopped down into a chair. "We are not so different, you and I."

"You would compare yourself to me?"

Zevran laughed. "Outwardly, no. I have far better taste and am infinitely better looking, even bedraggled even as I am." He sighed. "But we have both known that bitter cup, Alistair. Neither of us could deny her a single thing she wanted. And above all else, she wanted you to live." He looked up at the human, and Alistair saw a sadness welling there, deep and profound. "When she entrusted this request to me, what choice did I have but to obey?"

Alistair wanted to hate him. He wanted something to take the rage and unfairness of all of it out on, but he couldn't. In Zevran's eyes he saw reflected his own pain. How ironic that this person he despised would be the only one left who could truly understand what that day had cost them both.

"So," Zevran continued, and his voice hovered closer his normal tone. "To answer your question, I am here to fulfill a promise made. If Rhiann taught me anything with her sacrifice, it is that some oaths transcend _all_ else. I was a fool to think that mine ended with her death. I swore to protect you with my life, and so I shall, even if it occasionally means stepping in to protect you from yourself."

Alistair stared at him. "She made you promise to protect me?"

"She did indeed, although," Zevran chuckled, and it was in honest amusement this time. "Given the circumstances, I have often wondered through the years if she was truly too kind to realize that some people can never be friends, or if you simply did something to greatly annoy her before she made her request. It really could go either way."

Nearly against his will, Alistair found himself laughing. It was quiet and didn't quite leave his chest, but it was laughter, all the same.

"Leliana and I are traveling to Highever," Zevran said, and Alistair started like a stag when the hunters burst through the foliage. "We have every year on this day since … well, you were there," he said quietly. "Come with us."

He had managed to stay away from Highever since taking the crown, sending Eamon when it couldn't be avoided. Luckily, Fergus seemed to understand his hesitation, rather than being offended by it. It certainly didn't hurt that Teyrn Cousland knew he had the personal ear of the king whenever he wished it. "I don't think I can."

"It may do you some good, my friend. You have been left alone here too long with your grief and your guilt. Wynne is too prone to coddling you and Oghren would have to crawl out of his bottle to see you are not yet well."

"They've been a great help to me."

"They helped you _survive_, of that I have no doubt. Now it is time to return to the world and _live_."

"Maybe," Alistair conceded unwillingly. "But, Highever...I don't think I you could understand."

"But I do. You forget, I saw what happened between the two of you. Truly, I saw it more clearly than most, green as I was with envy. The combination of a desperate situation and the intimacy of the Joining, the knowledge that the two of you alone could hold back the darkness that crawled across the land." He smiled again, but it was little more than a bitter twist to his mouth. "Of course it had to end in tragedy. There is no room for such love in the real world."

"And so you would prefer that I forget?"

"Never that, my friend," Zevran said softly, more sincerely than Alistair had ever heard him speak. "If you were to, I may have to discount all of this and kill you after all, and that would be a colossal waste, given all I have endured. But your Rhiann wanted you to get on with your life. After all – that's what this has all come down to, no? Your life."

-oOo-

"I'm going to Highever."

Eamon looked up, surprised to see Alistair not only standing in the doorway of his study, but apparently ready to go. He wore a finely wrought chainmail shirt and a traveling cloak, his sword at his hip. A number of his royal guards hovered uncertainly in the hall behind him, along with Wynne and Oghren.

"Excuse me?"

"Highever. I'm leaving immediately. I sent word ahead to Teyrn Cousland."

"Your Majesty," Eamon began, feeling a little desperate. "Do you really think this is the best time? There are several matters that need your immediate attention, and I know that you are feeling less then sure about your upcoming marriage..."

Alistair smiled, a genuine grin of his old humor that Eamon had not seen since the Blight. "I'll come back," he assured him, and Eamon breathed a bit easier. "I'll marry this Lena and provide the cursed rhan with its cursed heirs. I'll even try to be not miserable about it. But first, I'm going to Highever." His face fell and suddenly Eamon saw not the king of Ferelden standing before him, but the little boy who had stood before him long ago, bravery battling against grief at being sent away. "Please, understand. I have to do this."

Eamon nodded slowly. "Of course, Your Majesty."

-oOo-

They journeyed together on horseback this time, with as few guards as he could reasonably get away from the castle with. The first days of the trip seemed surreal with his old companions around him, each of them easily slipping back into familiar banter as if they had never been apart. Leliana rode beside him, and though her hair had grown longer and she wore the robes of a lay sister again she looked the same to him as she always had, her eyes sparkling with good humor as she smiled at him. "How are things sitting with you, Your Majesty?"

He gave her an exasperated look at the formal title that made her giggle. "I'm not really sure yet."

She nodded knowingly. He was torn between happiness at seeing that his friends were still there, and more than ever feeling the gaping hole for the one who was not.

The scars of the Blight still sliced across the land, but they were healing under his guidance, and as the procession made its way down the dusty roads the common folk would drop what they were doing and quite spontaneously cheer him as he passed.

"She would be proud of you, I think," Leliana commented, and for a moment her smile wavered ever so slightly, became soft with a hint of melancholy. "You've been a good king, as she knew you would be."

He didn't know how to answer that. "I wish you would return to court, Leliana," he said instead. "The offer still stands, you know. I'll never be able to listen to a Ferelden bard again."

She laughed lightly. "No, I am content where I am. There is much beauty to be had in simplicity." She grinned mischievously, sliding a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "But I would be very pleased to receive invitations to royal functions. A girl needs a reason to dress up once in a while, yes?"

He chuckled beneath his breath. "I'll remember that."

-oOo-

There is a statue in Denerim dedicated to she who is known in the bard's tales as the Hero of Ferelden. Just inside the gates is a large stone supporting a rampant griffon. A plaque bears the name of the woman who had ended the Blight, sighting the date of her sacrifice. Every year on the anniversary of her death the people come and leave flowers around the small memorial, murmuring their thanks.

What they do not know is their hero does not rest here.

Alistair acknowledged the need for the people to pay tribute. He had the marker built as a reminder of her strength and courage.

But it didn't suit Rhiann. Not as he knew her. Not the girl who was afraid of the dark and spiders but felt right at home disemboweling darkspawn, who's eyes could sparkle with laughter or flash with determination. The woman who's soft arms and warmth surrounded him at night, her love for him and unwavering belief in his potential flowing from her as effortlessly as breathing.

At her brother's request, Rhiann was cremated and buried in Highever, in a spot of land that was peaceful and green at the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the vast expanse of sea she had spoken of so often. As the group of her friends reached the home of her brother, the others made excuses to stay behind in the castle, granting Alistair the chance to visit the spot alone. It was with trepidation that he did so, and as he approached his nerves hummed and tensed at the sight of the white stone that marked her resting place. When he knelt down, gentle grief and a strange peace rolled over him like the waves of the sea, and he suddenly saw that he was a fool for not coming here sooner.

For a long time he said nothing, wishing that she could hear him and hoping she knew that he was there, finally, and that he was so, so sorry. He longed to hold her, to tell her everything he had locked away in him. He wanted her to know he still dreamed of her at night, that she had been right all along in making him king, but he couldn't seem to get the words past the knot in his throat.

Knowing him, they would have come out wrong anyway.

Instead, he left the gift he had brought – a single red rose – and let his fingers lovingly trace her name, carved in stone.

"I miss you. Every day," he whispered.

And as the warm breeze lifted around him, carrying with it the scent of the sea and wildflowers in bloom, he knew that it was enough.

.

.

.

_**~The End~**_

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_**A/N**_**: **_I wanted to take a moment to thank all the readers who have followed this experiment in creativity to its end. This was really just an insight into how easily my mind wanders, and your encouragement and feedback renewed my love for telling stories, even if it's not necessarily my own story to tell. _

_To explain myself to those who were less than happy with the road I took: I never saw this story as a happy one. There are too many areas of grey and questionable choices to make. Though I enjoyed writing Rhiann and am very pleased with the way she turned out, I always saw her as slightly unbalanced, someone who had seen too much in too short a time, who was able to meet the challenges thrown at her but perhaps not as able to forgive the circumstances that put her in that position. I tend to listen to a lot of music when I'm writing to get my mind in the right place, and her theme song in my head was "Leave Out All The Rest" by Linkin Park, if that explains anything._

_But, writing the ending broke my heart as well, so as a huge thanks for all the feedback, I am working on an alternate Dark Promise ending. I'll post it separately within the next couple of days, hopefully. Like the game that has sparked our obsessions, I'll leave it to you to decide how Alistair and Rhiann's story ended._

_And I have to take my hat off to David Gaider. Once you get past the leveling and mobs and tricks and traps that are required of all video games, you can find the brutally beautiful story he created of love and betrayal, duty and sacrifice. It truly is breathtaking, and I wish I could thank him for the inspiration. _


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